#looking since the trees are all perfectly lined up on a grid

[chisatowo]

Once again thinking abt unit swap 25ji very very hard

[puff-poff]

The Culture of the Demon World

One part of The Promised Neverland that I always wanted to learn more about was the demons and their culture. Demons are a whole new race with their own language, religions, traditions, food, and history, and I want to learn more about their society. So, I decided to do a bit of research on a few specific aspects of the demon world. After writing everything down and connecting the pieces while trying to remain true to canon, I finally have something clear enough to share with you all.

Without further ado, I present to you my analysis of demon culture.

Part One: Clothing Just like in real life, the clothing demons wear depends on their social status and wealth. The middle and lower-class demons wear loose, flowing clothes with wide collars and sleeves. They most likely do this just in case they aren’t able to eat human meat and maintain their form; baggy clothes won’t tear if the demons start to degenerate. This is why the wealthy demons wear tighter clothing. Tight-fitting outfits show that you can afford plenty of human meat and that you aren’t worried about degenerating.

Many demons, both poor and rich, wear long, layered clothing, but it’s hard to tell if this is a societal standard or a byproduct of cold weather. Almost all of the demons we see are wearing long-sleeved tops and ankle-length bottoms, as well as a jacket, shawl, cape, or scarf. However, the feet and hands are almost always uncovered.

A major part of demon clothing is, of course, their masks. This extra page explains the styles and functionality of the Goldy Pond demon’s masks:

Like the rest of their clothing, wealth plays a part in demon’s masks as well. Detailed masks with large horns, like Luce’s, are worn by rich demons who want to flaunt their wealth, while lower-class demons wear simple, paneled masks with short horns. Demons who want a more functional mask might choose one without horns so they don’t get in their way. The aristocrat demons also have a unifying feature between their territory’s masks to differentiate themselves from the leaders of other territories. Whether or not your mask shows your mouth appears to be a personal preference since Legravalima, Mujika, Sonju, Awla, and Mawla all have uncovered mouths despite the character’s drastic differences.

Another detail I would like to point out is the material of the masks. Most demon masks are likely made of a material similar to clay, but there are a few demons with special masks that appear to be made out of something else. Nous and Nouma, for example, have athletic masks coated with shiny material that’s probably similar to polyester. However, it was Legravalima and Sonju’s masks that interested me the most. Legravalima’s mask is smooth, glossy, and seemingly made out of metal. A metallic mask is likely a sign of royal status and immense wealth. This explains why Sonju had a metallic mask as a child, and why he doesn’t have one now. When he was a prince, Sonju wore a shiny mask with a design similar to Legravalima’s. After running away with Mujika, he grew out of his mask and now wears a clay one of the same design.

This might just be the art style of the series changing over time, but I also find it interesting that Sonju’s mask suddenly becomes glossy in chapter 156 during the battle at the royal capital. It’s his first time stepping foot in the palace since he ran away, and it’s as if his mask is suggesting that returning to the palace has given Sonju his royal status back.

Part Two: Architecture In many ways, the architecture in the demon world reminds me of places like the Sant Francesc Church in Spain and Royal Ontario Museum in Canada. As time goes on, old buildings are expanded and improved with modern additions to accommodate the changing world. This can be seen in the paradise hideout, where a newer building was constructed next to the original settlement.

The old, traditional demon buildings are made of clay and other types of stones. They don’t appear to have many windows, and the few windows they do have are holes without window panes. Many of the older buildings were carved out of mountains or trees, or at least rest atop a mountain with steps carved into the side. This traditional style of demon architecture is similar to old Pueblo architecture and adobe homes.

The newer demon architecture likely came into style sometime before Goldy Pond was built, seeing as Goldy Pond has buildings similar to those in modern demon villages. It resembles the European Tudor style with its grid window panes, timber frames, and sloped roofs. The walls were probably made using the wattle and daub technique and painted white or cream. Some of the buildings have stone foundations, but unlike the old style of architecture, the stones are laid like bricks. Buildings made using the new style of architecture also have shutters, awnings, and Juliet balconies.

This picture of the royal capital’s streets perfectly shows the mixing of the old and new architectural styles:

Here, you can see the original clay buildings with the balconies, awnings, and wooden frames of the new style added on. The buildings in the foreground have open windows while the ones further back have grid panes. One of the structures on the right is built in the style of the older demon homes, but it uses modern stone bricks and balconies. This blend of architecture helps show the development of the demon society through the years.

Part Three: Food Human meat is the most important food in demon culture since it’s what keeps the majority of demons from degenerating. I won’t be talking a lot about the farms and human meat in this post since it’s already been explored by the manga and people smarter than me. If you want to read more about demons and human meat, I recommend this post by the-silliest-idiot and this translation of the fanbook, particularly the Q&A sections.

As explained in the manga, the appearance of demons changes depending on the type of meat they eat. The aristocrat demons eat human meat, Parvus eats monkey meat, and the demon horse Sonju rides eats horse meat. As explained in the fanbook, humanoid demons will lose their human appearance if they don’t eat human meat, but monkey demons like Parvus can retain their appearance for a while. To keep themselves from degenerating or changing forms, humanoid demons don’t eat a lot of meat other than the human meat from the farms. When the demons do eat other meats, they eat bugs, fish, and birds, probably because those animals are difficult to change into.

While it’s unclear if demons eat the plants in the forest, we know that there are plenty of edible berries, nuts, fungi, and other plants that the human escapees eat during their travels. Demons also have a variety of fruits, vegetables, and nuts that they grow and harvest. In just these two panels, we can see that the demons have their own versions of pears, hazelnuts, pineapples, kiwi, and mangos (the mangos seem to be popular in the royal capital).

All demons, regardless of wealth or social status, appear to have equal access to all food except human meat. Lower-class demons get low-quality meat, but the same berries and nuts being sold at street markets are present in the Tifari offering.

Part Four: Language Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to decode the old demon language. In the words of the fanbook, “Sugita created demon god's name, but every other text from the demon language that appeared afterward was Posuka's creation.” The language was made up by Posuka, and I’m not sure if there’s enough dialogue to translate a full alphabet. The old demon language looks like a combination of Japanese and Enochian, but that’s all I can gather from it. It’s also unclear if the language has a written form. 

However, the old demon language isn’t used anymore. The language died out for two major reasons; a general lack of knowledge and to separate language from the old faith. The aristocratic demons know the language well enough, but we don’t see many commoner demons speaking it. The modern demon society writes in English, as shown by the signs at Goldy Pond, and it’s likely that they also speak English despite the story being written in Japanese. There's also a chance that the demons speak Old English since the promise was forged during medieval times. If this is true, then the aristocrats and heads of the farms could have a more modern accent because they often talk to people from the human world.

Part Five: The Arts Sadly, we don't know much about art in the demon world. The promise was made around the 11th century, so art in the demon world is likely reflective of that time. I can only assume they have their own literature, art movements, and music, but it's mostly speculation. One thing I noticed is that the demon world has a lot of embroideries, whether it be on the edges of a cape or banners inside the palace. This fits with my theory of medieval Europe-inspired art and languages. During medieval times, top layer garments such as coats and cloaks were commonly embroidered along the hemline and cuffs. This kind of embroidered clothing is worn by many demons throughout the series.

Banners, tapestries, and flags were also commonly created by artists during medieval times. Lines of flags are seen throughout the demon world, and a few buildings in the capital have banners hanging outside. The palace has a few banners of its own, though they're fancier than the ones in the capital streets.

Damask fabric is another example of demon artistry being influenced by medieval Europe. Damask is a reversible fabric created by weaving. The royal demons seem to have jumped on the damask train before the promise was sealed because it can be found in many places throughout the palace. Most notably, Legravalima's dress is partially made of damask, though the silhouette is very different from that of a medieval damask evening gown. Damask was commonly used to make curtains as well, like the ones draped around the Tifari offering.

We don’t know much about literature in the demon world. The books we see were written in the human world and sent to the farms, but surely the demons have their own books and stories. Seeing as the rest of the arts in the demon world were inspired by medieval Europe, I can only assume that their books, fables, and plays are as well. Much of medieval literature was based on religion and chivalry. There were also many fables and myths derived from old stories and religious texts. Demon children probably read many stories about the Evil Blooded, the runaway prince, and heroic knights who protect the demons from harm. There likely are many stories written in the old demon language as well. Similar to Latin and Old English in the Middle Ages, the old demon language was probably the main written language until the 11th century, when the demons began using English as a primary language.

I imagine that Anglo Saxon, Byzantine, and Norman (ha get it) art heavily inspired art in the demon world. The palace is likely covered in tapestries and murals depicting historic events. Metal and tilework were probably once a major part of demon artistry, but the practices died out over time. Instead, many demon artists practice painting and embroidery. Pieces of art in the demon world would be very vibrant and colorful, especially the works displayed in the palace.

When it comes to music in the demon world, there isn’t much to go off of. We know that the farms have access to instruments and sheet music because of Leslie and Nat. Barbara also sings a Japanese children’s song in chapter 113. Unfortunately, we don’t get much information about music in the demon world outside of the farms. I assume that demons primarily play string instruments and piano because of their long fingers. They also have more fingers than humans, meaning they can make a variety of chords that humans can’t. More fingers also allow demons to add more strings to their instruments. Even though it’s possible that demons have their own special instruments, we know that they also have human instruments like cellos, trumpets, and pianos.

Conclusion: There’s a lot more I wish I could talk about (mainly the elements of culture), but I’m stopping for now so this doesn’t get any longer. Feel free to correct me or add on anything I missed. If you made it this far, thank you for reading this incredibly long analysis of demon culture and I hope you have a great day.

[tipsycad147]

Choosing a rune set: A beginner's guide

by Michelle Gruben

Thinking about taking up the runes? Mastery of the runes can take many years, but it is not difficult for a beginner to learn the basics. (Much as young children can quickly learn their ABCs.) The first learning tool you’ll need is a rune set of your own, to begin familiarizing yourself with this ancient system of knowledge.

First, some background: Runes are archaic European letters used in magick and divination. The best-known runic alphabet is the Elder Futhark, which contains 24 symbols.There are other rune systems, such as the Younger Futhark, Northumbrian runes, and Witches' runes. But most of the time, when people talk about reading runes, they are referring to the Elder Futhark, which fell out of use as an alphabet around the 8th century AD.

Each rune has a threefold meaning: A phonetic sound (as a letter of the alphabet), a mundane object or action that it stands for, and a mystical or abstract significance. Rune-casting—or reading the runes—is a way to activate intuition and gather information about the past, present and future. Runic symbols have powerfully condensed meaning. Sometimes, a single letter says something that paragraphs cannot.

Make or buy?

Making your own set of rune stones or tiles is an excellent way to begin to learn the runic symbols. Painting or carving the runes can be a kind of meditation, and help to infuse your new rune set with your energy. Depending on your level of craftiness and the tools/materials available to you, making your first rune set can be a great option that lets you express your creativity.

On the other hand, there are many beautiful rune sets for sale—many made with materials and techniques that would not be practical to replicate at home. Investing in a pre-made rune set that calls to you can be an equally good beginning to your runic studies.

Usually, rune sets for sale at metaphysical stores include the 24 Elder Futhark runes. Most also have one blank (or “wyrd”) rune that acts as a wild card. A drawstring bag or box and a set of basic instructions may also come with your runes. However, don’t feel that you have to use any of these items just because they were sold as a set. Rune-reading practices vary greatly, and eventually you will settle on a method that works for you.

Making your own runes

If you go the route of making your own Elder Futhark runes, you will need 24 roughly equal-sized objects that will become your rune tiles. (25 if you wish to include a blank rune.) Your backyard or local craft store probably has something that can be made into runes. (Be sure to practice good magickal etiquette if you take something from nature.) Wooden nickels, tree branch slices, earthen clay, and even glass aquarium gems all make serviceable homemade runes.

Obviously, some materials are more durable than others. I made my first set of runes with flat rocks gathered from a streambed. I didn’t realize that they were made out of fragile sedimentary rock. They flaked and crumbled to pieces after several weeks of being dry. Uncured wood will split, and painted symbols will chip off when the runes tumble together in a bag. It may take some trial and error to make a rune set that can endure being carried around and used in readings. Wood-burning, clear-coating, kiln-firing and engraving are all crafting techniques that will help your handmade runes stand up to wear and tear.

Materials

Rune sets can be made from a staggering variety of materials: Glass, bone, antler, wood, gemstone, ceramic, metals, and common stones. What you choose mainly depends on your preferences and budget. What feels most magickal to you?

Bone runes are made from cleaned animal bones, which are then painted or engraved with the runic symbols. (I’ll admit that bone items personally skeeve me out, but many Witches who work closely with the animal kingdom love them.)  If you collect bones, or know someone who does, you can create your own set from the bones of a special animal. Commercial bone runes are usually made from water buffalo bone—a byproduct of meat and dairy farming in Asia.

Antler runes are made from cross-sections of deer antlers. Antlers are fast-growing bones, and their magickal properties are similar to bone. Antler runes would be a marvelous choice for a rune-reader who connects with Stag energy. (Both bone and antler runes look like puppy treats to dogs—so keep your prized rune set away from Fido.)

Wood runes can be made from nearly any type of wood. You may wish to choose one of the folkloric magickal woods for your rune set (Oak, Ash, Elder), or some other wood with a personal significance. Wood runes may be painted, engraved, woodburned—or a combination of these methods. A sealant or varnish gives the wood a lovely sheen and helps protect the symbols, but many rune-readers prefer to keep it all natural with a light coating of oil or beeswax.

Stone runes are made with precious gems, semi-precious stones, or even ordinary pebbles. Some Norse Pagans I know insist that wood and bone are the only proper materials for rune tiles. Rune stones, they say, are a modern, New Age invention.

Even so, gemstone rune sets—which combine the metaphysical lore of crystals with the runic alphabet—are probably the most popular type of rune set among Wiccans and Pagans. Gemstone runes are pleasingly heavy when cast, and undeniably beautiful to work with. You can choose your gemstone rune set based on the magickal properties of the stone—Amethyst for intuition, Jasper for courage, Hematite for protection, etc.

Ceramic runes include rune tiles made from air-dried, oven-baked, or kiln-fired clay. (The latter is the most durable.) They are popular with DIY-ers, and those who connect especially with the element of Earth. One of my favorite artisans makes rune sets from fragments of pottery that have washed ashore in her coastal town—they are unique and colorful runes of Earth and sea!

Glass runes and pewter runes are specialty items that are hard to find. Though these materials are made by humans, they are perfectly appropriate for magickal work if they appeal to you.

Are there any materials that should not be made into runes? I’m a magickal pragmatist. I’m into what works, and I don’t have much regard for sacred cows. But. As a magickal pragmatist, it’s perfectly fair to point out that the runes work best when treated with the utmost respect and dignity. Odin, it is told, hung on the World Tree for nine days and nine nights in order to receive the secret of the runes. It just seems wrong to look up the symbols on Pinterest and start carving them onto Styrofoam.

You can argue, I suppose, that since the runes are a sacred alphabet, they sanctify everything they touch. And yet, I have an instinctive revulsion toward runes made from paper, wood composites, and plastics (polymer clay included).

The runic symbols are worthy of great reverence—but there are no absolutes when it comes to selecting rune tiles. I recently broke my own rules and added a set of inexpensive resin runes to my store. I wouldn’t want a lack of money to prevent anyone from studying the runes. Even a basic set of runes can become a powerful tool in the hands of a serious seeker.

Size and Shape

All settled about the material? It’s time to spare a bit of thought on the size of your runes. Runes, especially gemstone runes, may be as small as a half-inch—too small to be practical for most readers. Basically, you want the rune set to be easy to read, and to feel comfortable in your hands. If you’re going to be reading for others, or in low light, go a bit larger. Even big runes are really travel-sized!

Rune tiles vary in size and shape, even within the same set. If you use the “blind draw” method of rune-reading (putting your hand in the bag and feeling around), it becomes more important for the runes to be a fairly uniform size.

One final consideration is the shape of the runes: Flat, round, symmetrical? Round-ish runes are fine for drawing from the bag. But if you want to lay your runes out in lines or grids, tile-shaped is the way to go.

Some rune readers—but not all—read “reversed” runes. Reversals give a different meaning when a rune lands face-down, or upside-down. If your rune tiles are very round and/or symmetrical, it will be more difficult to tell when a rune comes up reversed. Some runes (like Isa and Gebo) look the same whether they're upright or inverted. If getting the reversed meaning is important to you, get an asymmetrical set and memorize the orientation.

Choosing your first rune set can be intimidating, but it doesn't have to be. Pick a set you're drawn to, learn the symbols, and begin using the power of the runes to transform your life and magick!

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/choosing-a-rune-set

[mandalorewhore]

Mirroring

PART THREE OF MOMENTS IN-BETWEEN!!

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2.6k AO3 link

Content: light angst, themes of anxiety, fluff, bonding, found family, subtle dinmera :), din learns how to communicate with kids

Summary:  Soft moments between Din and Grogu that the audience does not get to see In-between episodes, scenes, and seasons.  

A/N: this one is lighter/sillier than previous chapters, also there will be multiple Sorgan chaps owo

***

The kid won’t stop following Din. 

He doesn’t get it at first. If he’s being honest, he unconsciously expected to put the child down and come back to the child sitting right where he left it. The realization is slightly embarrassing. Of course, a baby isn’t going to sit nicely without supervision... even an odd baby with strange powers and the highest bounty Din has ever seen.

The child isn’t dumb or animalistic; Din knows that his physical growth relative to mental growth must be far slower than other species, especially since the kid has toddler-like mannerisms yet possesses enough strength to lift a full-grown Mudhorn with his mind. 

Din tries to not think about that, it’s too confusing to consider while he juggles running for his life. The child's powers don’t lend him self-sufficiency, the kid still needs help with feeding, bathroom breaks, and keeping clean. Din is struck over and over again with the realization that this child will rely on him for, well, everything. 

Even after choosing to lose everything for the kid, the reality of his situation is overwhelming enough to cause him some anxiety. The child will continually look to him for nourishment, entertainment, and probably affection. Definitely affection. He’s already seeking that comfort with the way he looks at Din, face so full of trust that it is almost uncomfortable to witness. The kid mirrors the bounty hunter’s actions, playing with the switches on the Crest console and attempting to follow him wherever he goes. 

He stubbornly waddles in Din’s shadow even after they landed on Sorgan, making his way through the lush woods on tiny limbs. Din learns to slow his pace once the kid falls a little too far behind. 

This planet is lovely. It is such a shame that they can’t stay. Warm, late-summer light breaks through the forest canopy to speckle the forest floor as if the lightbox antics from the night before have manifested in reality. The kid is just as distracted by the real thing, chasing the sunbeams and occasionally wandering to the side of the beaten path in a manner that makes Din nervous. He feels like he could blink and the baby will be lost in the underbrush. Once they get back to the ship Din will sit him down and have a chat about that habit. Hopefully, the little one will understand well enough to stick closer to him on their next excursion. 

He pauses in the shadowy path, smiling when a small bump at his ankle tells him the kid is keeping pace. He looks down and meets the baby’s dark eyes, the emotion within them is feverishly excited. The child babbles and points into the trees, swirling his hands around with an animated flair to gesture at everything and nothing. Din guesses he is trying to describe the woods.

The bounty hunter crouches down and listens attentively to the kids ranting, his large dark eyes so emotive that the language barrier is all but eliminated. Both the baby and Mandalorian nod and look around with exaggerated motions, the child's excited attitude rubbing off on him. Din doesn’t want to interrupt the moment but he knows they need to keep going if they want to make it back to the ship before dark. They’re still being hunted. 

The bounty hunter straightens with a heavy breath, settling his hands on his hips. “Come on little one. It will be dark soon.” The baby clutches Din’s calf and keens, a high whining sound that plucks the man’s heartstrings. The poor child is having so much fun here. For the millionth time, Din wishes that they could stay on Sorgan. If the baby weren’t under his care then he would just take down the shock trooper and claim the planet for his hideout… Unfortunately, that would bring too much heat onto the pair. 

Din tries again to convince the baby, raising his voice an octave to sound more excited, hopefully, it will catch the kid’s attention. “I’ll give you a treat when we’re back. How’s that sound, huh?” 

It works, he thinks. The baby perks his ears up and lets out a curious coo, backing up from Din’s legs and looking down the path. Din smiles again then starts up his pace again, a little faster now that the sunshine has taken on a deeper hue. 

They make good time, traveling several miles before dusk falls and the forest lays in shadow. It is a bit eerie now, bird song and animal calls have all but disappeared with the daylight. The only sound now is the rustling of leaves, insect buzzing, and an occasional breeze howling through the trees. Din flicks on his night vision setting and walks faster, forgetting in his haste that he needs to make sure that the child is keeping up. 

Seconds later, a twig snaps and Din whips around, the sound is just too loud and heavy for the kid to make. There’s nothing behind him, no movement in the woods, no footprints or body-heat register, and the path is clear. Everything is fine- Wait. 

The path is completely clear.

The kid is nowhere to be seen. 

Panic floods Din’s body, intense, choking pressure crushing his limbs and chest with enough force to rip the air out of his lungs. The sensation is akin to being sucked into space, although Din would take that fate over the current fear that overwhelms him. Hunter’s instincts take over as his body moves automatically to search the trees, prowling the space around him while his mind watches numbly from afar. It’s odd, he feels like a specter observing from behind the veil, unable to control his actions. The trees blur together, choking panic becoming harder to ignore with every second that passes in his search. 

He finds his voice. “Kid!” It comes out all wrong and hollow as if it were the cry of a stranger instead of Din’s voice. “Kid, where are you!?”

He ducks down to the forest floor, laying on his stomach and looking through the thick overgrowth at the child's eye level. Din hopes that the lower perspective will help him figure out where to look next, searching desperately for any eye-catching areas that may have drawn the kid. Unfortunately, nothing is out of the ordinary. Not even a suspicious twig.

Din sighs shakily and rises to his knees, about to give up and start grid searching when something catches his eye causing him to flatten once more. There was a flash of body heat on his current visor setting, the reddish-orange mark alarmingly vibrant against the darkness that surrounds him. Whatever produces the heat is only a few feet away, snuffling around a felled tree for its next meal. The fuzzy form is too big to be the kid, and if it eats meat then it may pose danger to a child the size of Din’s foundling.

Din doesn’t think before he launches himself at the creature. 

It shrieks as he lands heavily by its side, his hands shooting out to snatch the animal, a rodent, and flip it over, praying that its species is inclined to being herbivores. His answer comes in the half-eaten bark that tumbles from the rodent's mouth as it lets out a shriek, its wide mouth lined with round teeth and eyes dilated in fear. Din lets the creature go, his stomach tight with fear for the child and guilt for scaring the creature. It skitters away to its den, unharmed. 

The Mandalorian deflates, leaning forward until the forehead of his helmet rests on the forest floor. There is an empty place shredding inside of him, a place that was quickly woven by having the child at his side. It falls apart just as quickly. 

Din should’ve found him by now, a baby that young can’t hide so well as to lose a seasoned hunter. He'll go back to the settlement and scout out potential kidnappers, running the Guilds database program and comparing faces until he recognizes the culprit. Before that, he should scan the area again, just in case. Maybe the baby crawled down a den with one of those rodents. Din screws his face up in despair, turning to settle his temple onto the dirt before opening his eyes and-

There, in the hollow of the felled trunk, are two staring black pupils twinkling at him from the dark. A giggle bubbles up from the kid’s mouth, soft white bark spraying in every direction as he laughs.

Din is fucking furious. 

 ------------------------------------------

    Children's laughter fills the air like a symphony, fitting perfectly against the background noise of bird song, tittering parents, and working krill farmers. Din’s foundling runs on short legs to keep up with the human children, jumping as best he can to swat at hovering butterflies that tease the excited crowd. He fits in perfectly here, the happiest Din has seen in the short time they’ve been together. He should leave him here once the Guild calms down in a few months. 

    Din flinches from inside his hut, the thought hurts too much to consider.

    That will be months from now anyway, he doesn’t need to think about it. The only thing he should be concerned about is scouting the woods with Dune later, searching for the raiders that plague this community. For now, he can peacefully sit in his temporary lodging and observe life on Sorgan. It is a gentle one and, try as he might bury it, Din appreciates gentle things. 

    “Ow! Hey, he hit me!” One of the village’s children stands clutching his arm, glaring at his female friend who glumly scrapes the ground with a shoeless foot. 

    “I did not! It was the new kid.” The accused girl shoots back, pointing fervently at the little, green foundling who is standing agape in the crowd. “He did it!”

    Din straightens at her accusation, annoyance rising from his chest to heat his cheeks. Does she think she’ll get away with the lie? He thinks hotly.

His kid- the kid is too short to even reach any of their shoulders, let alone hit them. How dare she accuse the baby. Adjusting his helmet, Din stalks out of the hut and approaches the children, ready to defend the child against all offending claims but the other adults reach the group first. He recognizes Omera and freezes when she shoots him a sharp look, her eyes speaking wordlessly. Don't make this worse.

    “What happened here?” She asks in a firm, clear tone, pulling the three children closer to her and crouching to their eye level. The baby is transfixed, his mouth still hanging open as he twists his ears curiously at the woman. “Use your words and take turns please.”

    The hurt child, named Kaigo if Din remembers correctly, huffs loud enough for Din to hear from where he stands 20 feet away. Kaigo raises his chin and looks down his nose at Omera before answering her. “Winta wanted to catch the butterfly first but I’m taller than her and gooder at catching bugs, so she hit me. The baby is too short to even hit me!”

    Din nods. Damn right he's too short. And the kid doesn’t hit.

    “Better, not gooder,” Omera gently corrects Kaigo, brushing away a strand of hair while tersely turning to Winta, her daughter. “Winta, is this true? I’ve taught you about using your words before actions.” Winta seems to be fascinated by the dirt ground, kicking her foot and refusing to meet her mother’s gaze. 

Omera tries again, “Winta, look at me please.”

    “Fine! I did hit him. But everyone is obsessed with the new baby and Mandalorian, and I wanted to catch a butterfly so that everyone will like me again!” The little girl chokes up at the end of her confession, falling into Omeras lap with her arms wrapped around her mother. The baby makes a distressed sound and places his little hands on Winta’s knee. 

    Din takes this as his cue to join them, long strides leading him across the clearing in mere seconds. The baby runs up and hugs his ankle when he spots the Mandalorian while Kaigo retreats to his friend group with wide eyes locked on the warrior. A hush falls over the children in his presence, as the setting sun behind Din lays his shadow over their huddled group. Everyone seemingly holds their breath. The loudest sound is Omera’s soothing hand patting Winta’s back. 

    Din leans into one leg feeling awkward, he doesn’t know how to address the little ones firmly without scaring them. After a few tense moments, he clears his throat and turns to Winta.

    “I like you Winta. You have been very kind to the child.” The words come out halting and none too graceful but he means it, Winta and Omera have gone out of their way to welcome the bounty hunter and child, bringing him food and playing with the baby with open arms. Omera lends him a gracious smile when he speaks, a lovely sight that sends warmth throughout Din’s chest. Her daughter peeks from her hiding spot in Omera’s elbow, teary eyes stubborn and flashing in the sun. 

    “You don’t mean it.” She shoots back, harshly drawing her eyebrows together on her young face before burrowing into her hiding spot once more. The widow sighs and stops her soothing pats, stretching her arms above her head wearily. Din’s eyes catch on the curve of her neck then dart away, busying himself with picking up the baby who has started up a babble at his feet. 

    “Mando is nice, Winta. He’s helping us get rid of the raiders which he wouldn’t do if he disliked you. Come on,” she pulls the little girl upright and turns her reluctant body to face Din. “He’s helping us, sweetheart.” 

One of the young boys interjects, from the gaggle of children. “Yeah! He’s a good guy!” 

    Din nods at the boy then tries copying Omera’s earlier actions by crouching to the height of the girl, extending one glove to Winta while the other keeps the baby held against his cuirass. “I promise. Shake on it. Bounty hunter shakes are very serious.”

    Petulant eyes meet his own through the visor and he sucks in a startled breath, taken aback by the perceptive look. Most people tend to miss his eyes, always just slightly off enough to leave Din feeling unseen. The physical barrier of beskar leans into an emotional one as well. He’s noticing now that the children don’t miss his eyes as often. 

Winta slowly reaches out and grips his finger, shaking up and down so seriously that Din wants to laugh. He holds it back knowing it would only hurt her feelings more, instead, he says, “there. your very first guild contract.” 

Omera laughs softly and stands, picking Winta up off her lap and spinning her onto her back, child limbs wrapping around her slim figure like a spider. “Winta is not allowed to hunt bounties, sorry.”

“Shame. She is very skilled. Especially when it comes to catching butterflies.” He tilts his helmet knowingly at the little girl, who grins proudly back at him before remembering that she is supposed to be upset. Din smiles at her stubbornness, holding the foundling out to her to try and appease the attitude. Winta smiles and hesitantly holds the baby’s hand while he babbles and wriggles his ears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, frowning slightly in a way that seems self-directed. “I shouldn’t have lied. I like you. And I’m sorry Kaigo!” She shouts the last part to her friend. The baby laughs and starts flapping his arms, looking between his friend and the butterflies that still flutter just above the villagers. Winta squeals in delight and takes him in her spindly arms, hugging him tightly as he continues to imitate the colorful creatures. 

It’s so silly that even Din laughs. 

[roodllle]

Year in Review - Animal Crossing New Horizons

I started writing this review/criticism in May of 2020 but decided to update it as the year went along and post it on the anniversary of NH’s release. I would like to preface that this is mostly going to be full of questions of criticisms, I love this game. I have not been able to put it down since I got it on March 20th. My first AC game was NL and then I played HHD. I was ecstatic when they announced NH at E3 2019 and kept trying to find other games to fit in my AC shaped hole in my heart but I wasn’t able to fill it till this game came out. I feel like the pace of the game is great with how you build up to unlocking terraforming and 5 stars, and I feel like the updates are well timed especially with how crazy 2020 was for everybody. That being said there were some things that irked me. 

Some of the points I will bring up came from other people/commenters I have seen on here, Discord, Reddit, and Twitter that I also agree with. Some other points are from Youtubers such as ShayMay and ChuyPlays. And others are from me. 

With that out of the way, let’s get on with the review. Warning, I guess, don’t expect this to be an essay, this is just a patchwork quilt made up of thoughts.

Terraforming

I wish cliffs/tiers had a smaller level? Like how we’re able to make stepping stones for our rivers if we don’t want to put a bridge down/use our vaulting pole. I just wish there was a cliff alternative. 

Another cliff alternative would be if we could put bridges between cliffs. I think we’ve all been there where we see this picture 

          thought ‘we can do that!!” then realized it was photoshopped

When we go into terraforming, I wish a grid showed up on our island. It would make it much easier to avoid hitting the wrong square when I’m trying to change a river. 

Having us be able to “close” a waterfall from a lower level but not create a new on at the same spot. 

Also the fact we can add a 4th tier but can’t put anything on it is just strange to me. I know we have to have a limit to how high we can go, but at least let me put nature stuff, such as trees/flowers/bushes, on top of it instead of just a flat piece of land. 

Houses

Why no ceiling items? Find it odd they added a bunch of stuff in HHD and didn’t add that to the new mainline game

There’s no reason I can think of to why we can’t access our storage when we’re crafting inside our house. 

Buildings

Dodo Airlines

The Dodo Islands right now are very boring and barely use them. I have enough money and materials to not go farming and save up all my NMTs for when I go villager hunting, which has also become a rarity. I think it would be a good idea to make some islands seasoned themed. Have them be all rare, but have an island where it’s fall and has maple leaves falling, a cherry blossom one, one with snowflakes. I wouldn’t recommend they make Holiday themed ones, but having seasonal ones would be nice.

When I mess up a dodo code or accidentally hit ‘make a bridge’ instead of incline, etc. why do I have to restart the ENTIRE conversation instead of the characters just being “oh? did you mean “x” or “would you like to retype it?” like is it that hard??  

Resident Services

As much as I love Isabelle this game has made me very indifferent towards her. I think they gave her a role that didn’t need to exist. They could have either let us roam around without any warnings to who was roaming around our island, in the campsite, or any weather updates. Just have us rely on our villagers, the TV, and our eyeballs. OR they could have given us a social media like app and/or a weather app. Instead, they gave us Isabelle that only announces something once a month.

Nook’s Cranny

This might just be me but can they add a little DIY area in the store? Maybe just make to where you can only customize things?? This is more out of convenience than an actual problem  

Speaking of customization, since you can make medicine but also buy can we do the same for the custom kits and bait. Like make it where we can buy bait and also make our own custom kits? I just think it’s weird that they give us either/or for medicine but not for the other 2 that I honestly use way more than medicine.

Why do the Able Sisters get to have all of the colors of an item in their shop but Nook’s Cranny can’t? And why can’t we just be able to customize all items that have multiple looks/colors? Example, why can’t I just be able to change the wood type for the antique set instead of having to buy each one? I get that the furniture catalog is already small, but that’s not my fault. They’ve decided to not add past furniture sets into NH. 

Able Sisters

Let us multi select clothes instead of it just being how much we can wear. idc if it’ll just put those clothes in our personal storage and then we’ll have to run home and put it in that storage, I just hate having to walk back in and out every time I want a dress in multi colors. ALSO tell us if we already bought it, like a little storage icon or something

Why can’t we hang any article of clothing on the back wall, why do we have to either make it or have the OG qr designer come to our island? 

Why can’t we have the transparent option when designing clothes? I think it would make many designer’s lives easier instead of having to make 8 versions of the same outfit.

NPCs

I have played this game almost every day since it came out, minus 2 days. I have also been able to make friends on discord that help with trading/cataloging/etc. I have all of Saharah’s, Kicks’, Label’s, and Redd’s items. I have all of the fish/bug models I want and have no desire to “catch them all”. I haven’t talked to Wisp in months because I have most of the items and his idea of “expensive” is 10k bells. The only NPC I actively look forward to is Celeste because even though I now have all of her DIYs, she still gives out star fragments, regular large or horoscope, when I talk to her. 

What I’m wondering is if they’re planning on doing anything else with these characters. Before I speak further I’m going to weed out characters that I am actually fine with. CJ and Flick will always be there if I want a bug/fish model, I understand that Saharah/Kicks/Redd have a ton of stuff to get and w/o the help of my discord friends, I probably wouldn’t have gotten everything till late 2021. 

So that leaves Label and Wisp. I understand Wisp is there for beginners, but now that I’m at a point where I am a bell millionaire and have most of the Nook’s items cataloged, there is no reason for me to talk to him. I wish Nintendo had put in a system where depending on the person who Wisp is talking to, it determines how much money you have in your bank account/looks at your catalog, Wisp’s item’s worth goes up.

As for Label...I never saw her as viable. I also thought the tickets were dumb and you don’t even have to talk to her to have her items show up in the shop the next day. I think it would be great if when you bought all of her items, she decided to join the Able’s sisters in their shop like in NL and then have Gracie show up in her place for the weekly NPC. 

Where is Blanca? Or Brewster? Or Shrunk, Katrina, Gracie, or Kapp’n and his family? I understand we will probably never see characters like Harriet or Pete because they have been replaced by a new system, but what is the excuse for these other characters? I’m hoping they show up in year 2 of NH but...we’ll see.

Villagers

I think having your first villagers living in basic homes is a good idea but one that quickly gets annoying. I found Sherb while villager hunting for the 1st time and have had him ever since, but his house is stuck at basic lazy setup. Instead of me going back and forth on whether or not i should trust somebody enough to hold Sherb, get somebody else out, then get him to move back to my island, You can have it to where you let them leave, then just wait till he comes to the campsite to visit and reinvite him. You get his actual house and he still remembers you. This could also go for you accidentally letting somebody go or letting somebody go then regretting it. Also it’d be fun to see some old villagers again.

I was curious and looked back on past games to see how many new villagers were released each game and NH has been the least amount. NL released 112 new villagers in total while NH has released 8. I’m hoping they might release more down the line but, hella disappointing imo. Along with the Sanrio update and adding those characters to the game, I am more hopeful that they’ll be adding new characters!

Having an “event” of sorts where you visit a villager’s house and they’re looking inside their closet. They look at you in surprise when you walk in and sheepishly explain that they were going through their clothes/items. They then decide to ask you for help since they can’t decide what to get rid of/what to keep and think you have a good eye for that sort of thing. Basically, a way to get rid of any clothes/items your villager somehow received bc I guess Isabelle scolding them isn’t enough.

A big problem I feel like everybody has is the villager dialogue. Yes they added sub personality types for each personality but they are not perfectly cut in half, ex. are the Sisterly types where there are 4 B types and 20 A types, like?? How I have “fixed” this problem is by having one of each personality type on my island so I always have different conversations with my villagers, but I understand not a lot of people do that. Some people just want normal/peppy types on their island bc they’re cute as hell, I get it. I know it would be...difficult to come up with unique dialogue for all 399 villagers, including Sanrio, but....you could at least for the “gimmicky” villagers. Some examples of these villagers are Ribbot and Sprocket, Lucky and Ankha, the super hero squad, and Kabuki. 

Quality Life stuff

Why cant we sit AND wish on stars? And I don’t mean the sit emote; why can’t I sit on a bench and wish on stars?

It sucks when I’m about to hit my rocks or just do a lot of dig work and then my shovel breaks in the middle of it. To show the tool is about to break, cracks should start to form on the handle and get deeper/longer as you keep using it, starting when you have 5 uses left. You can also add an auditory element by making the tool sound like its struggling when you are using it. Net/Shovel/Axe/Fishing Pole can have cracks show up on the handle, Slingshot can have crack show up at the bottom of the 2 spokes while having 1 at the top of the handle. And the watering can have cracks at the base of the can.

If our inventory is full when I dig up a flower, why can’t I replace it with another flower to bury? And if I can dig up an item at an diagonal item, I should be able to bury it again at the same angle.

Other

Having more...liveliness?? on the island, idk how else to say it. Example is whenever you travel by plane there's a chemtrail in the sky afterwards, maybe just seeing other planes go by throughout the day. Maybe you can get a hint Redd or Gulliver will be visiting you tomorrow if you see their boats beyond the horizon, Redd’s just crusin’ and the Gulls’ boats looking messed up. On a week where you don't have a new camper, maybe have an old villager visit. That leads me too

I wish villager’s doors could count as “exterior decorating” and we can just put any ornamental on there instead having to hope that your villager will put the wreath on their own door. 

Conclusion

If you read this whole thing holy shit, thanks!! Go treat yourself on my part lol If you disagreed with me or whatever feel free to chat with me about it! 

[dingoat]

A Kiss on the Hand

This is probably going to be the most involved of my OC Kiss Week pieces, hah, and comes from another prompt from @kaosstar (seriously thank you for these!!) - ‘A platonic kiss on the hand or cheek from Zim to Ahuska.’ I mulled for a while over how to let this come about, and once Kaos suggested Zim might want to compliment Ahuska’s singing, everything kind of fell into place.

It also gave me a grand opportunity to very gratuitously surround Ahuska with ALL THE LOVELY BOYS. I’ve borrowed @humanrevolt‘s Crow and @askshivanulegacy‘s Blakk for the occassion as well, I hope I’ve done right by everyone, ahhh, and of course this is only as ‘canon’ as everyone/anyone wants it to be.

If you want to read the tale (rated ‘C’ for ‘cheeky’) then carry on below!

---

Mar’an Crow did not understand his wife’s obsession with Pokemon Go.

“You can go catch real… like, real live, actual animals, any time you want! That’s literally what you do! People pay you real credits to do that!”

“Yeah but that’s not the point…”

“I thought that was one hundred per cent the point of the game?”

“I mean yeah, sorta, except it’s just fun like… it’s silly and nonsense, and doesn’t matter at all, and I kind of like that about it? Plus some of them are just stupidly cute…”

Crow did not understand. But considering their home planet was quite literally off the grid, he was willing to indulge Ahuska with a trip to Alderaan to participate in the upcoming Safari Zone Weekend. He trusted her claims that it was a ‘big deal’, that Alderaan was one of the ‘best planets’ to play on, and he trusted her, even if he didn’t trust that blasted Agent she’d be catching up with for a hot minute.

And so, having spent the previous day indulging in one of his favoured activities (white water hoverboarding over the Glarus rapids), a long sleep in and a gourmet breakfast in bed (they put berries on everything!!!) and a leisurely trip to the Alsakan Highland Wildlife Park in the morning (the vorn tigers had a three month old litter of cubs), Crow found himself giving Ahuska a peck on the cheek and wishing her a safe and fruitful ‘fake animal hunt’.

She laughed, kissed him back, and he barely even heard what she said while he took in the way her eyes almost perfectly matched the clear blue sky. “Mmm- what?”

“I said give my regards to Dahlia, you di’kut! And make sure Pexu gets into whatever mischief she wants. Only fair, since she couldn’t come to the park with us this morning. See you in a few hours.”

“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

Imperial Cipher Omega Blakk was just Blakk, today, having shed his uniform and his mission objectives to spend some time, in person, with his long term Pokemon Go buddy and fellow Instinct teammate. He still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to let her talk him into it; face to face interaction with somebody on the Empire’s hit list was dicey at the best of times and they were usually far more discrete and brief when chance brought them into the same sector at the same time- usually no more than sharing a quick caf over a trade before being on their separate ways again. He wanted to say she was incessant, that she was insufferable, that she twisted his arm or blackmailed him into it, but the simple truth that he would never admit out loud was that he found her infuriatingly delightful.

She loved to tease him through the game, going out of her way to find Pokestops marked over Anti-Imperial graffiti to send him gifts from, barely restraining her giggles when she showed him one of her pokemon – one that was a literal bag of garbage with a goofy little face – that she’d named ‘The Emperor’. But she also squeaked with delight every single time one of her favourite creatures showed up (a little blue and white animal based off a vulptilla), and actually clapped her hands together with glee when he offered up one of his absurdly exclusive regional legendaries for trade, when she didn’t have anything remotely comparable to offer in return. He couldn’t explain why, exactly, but he was happy to do so.

She actually grabbed his hand at one stage, to haul him onto his feet with a whoop and drag him three blocks over in pursuit of a new rare spawn that showed up on the map. She didn’t hesitate to climb a tree (full of bugs and probably other things) with both of their datapads tucked into her satchel to save them having to enter a gated country club that required guest sign-in for non-members (something neither of them were particularly excited to provide) – to access an uncontested gym. She paused play for twenty minutes to watch an Alderaanian snow squirrel pick its way across a garden lawn. And she teased him relentlessly about the fact that his clothing looked better suited to an evening gala dinner than a day outdoors playing games in the sun.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so bright and free spirited that her constant ribbing didn’t get to him. There was something different about spending time together in person. Or maybe… maybe it was the fact that for once, Blakk had a plan to get her back for months of endless cheek.

---

She wasn’t a Bothawui-born Bothan, that was for certain. It only took a few minutes of watching her for Ziminder to be confident about that.

His line of work brought him into contact with Bothans on a reasonably regular basis, and she had a vibrancy and openness to her that one simply didn’t see amongst those more embedded in the naturally mistrustful, back-stabbing culture of the species, whose economy was based on knowledge, and power was held by those able to seize and protect the most. The young Alderaanian nobleman smiled to himself, as he stood discretely off to one side in the dappled shade of an archway artfully overgrown with flowering vines, slowly nursing a sparkling drink. It had been a surprise, when Blakk had contacted him out of the blue, wondering if he was free to meet up for an afternoon tea with some other new friend of his. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He had been busy, but he’d never let Blakk know that he’d rearranged his schedule to fit him in. It had been far, far too long, and he had to admit that he was painfully curious to see what sort of friend might actually be capable of dragging the Agent out into the light of day, even for a little while. He had to guess that this Bothan- Ahuska- was a fan of his old acting work, and that Blakk’s invitation toward him was, in part, some sort of surprise favour to her, because he’d been instructed to hang back and wait until Blakk’s cue before meeting them at their table.

He thought that was tremendously cute, and was all too glad to play his part in such a gesture.

And so, he leant back and watched, bringing his tall glass to his lips once more, waiting for Blakk to catch his eye and give him that subtle nod.

---

Ahuska had been having a brilliant day. From the long, lazy morning to an entertaining and fruitful session of monster hunting, everything had just been downright lovely. Crow had treated her like a princess, and even Blakk seemed… somehow brighter than she’d come to expect from him.

She hadn’t really known what to make of his expression when she’d paused at one point to pick some wildflowers, and start weaving the stems of the stunning blue-violet blooms into a crown. Almost like he was jealous, she thought, though he went all odd and stiff when she offered one of the flowers to him. But he had accepted it, and pressed it neatly inside his wallet to stash in his pocket. She finished her crown, but wound up making it long enough to wear around her neck, and she still caught him staring at it a little oddly, from time to time.

She thought Alderaan’s Celebrity Walk was a bit of an unusual choice for them to have their afternoon tea break; granted, the place was littered with cute cafes amid the statues and memorials to famous Alderaanians from all walks of life, from war heroes to nobility to artists and actors and musicians, and she couldn’t deny that the place was an absolute haven for pokestops to keep an eye on while they ate.

It was just one of those spots that felt a little too tourist-catering for her tastes, and she would have assumed Blakk’s as well… until she saw the little commemorative plaque on the pavement beside the table he lead her to, and she had to stifle a giggle.

“Ohhhh, okay, okay, no, this makes sense now. Blakk, honestly, this crush of yours is way too cute.” She had, somewhere down the line, worked out that he was quite familiar with every work featuring the undeniably easy-on-the-eyes Ziminder Antilles, locally born actor who’d covered almost everything from commercials to holoflix series to feature length films. And so the fact that he’d want to sit next to Zim’s plaque was understandable and utterly delightful to her.

It also prompted her to start humming, and eventually singing aloud, the little ditty from one of Zim’s shows that she’d re-worked the lyrics to specifically for Blakk’s benefit (or discomfort, depending on who you were asking). She barely even thought about it as the words tumbled from her lips, while she stared over the menu in the vague hope that this particular café sold fresh donuts. “Toss a coooiiin to Ziminder, you big grumpy agent, you big grumpy agent…”

As she went on, she dared a glance his way, but was disappointed to see he wasn’t quite squirming the way he normally did. As she took a breath, Ahuska decided to up the ante, diving into a brand new verse that pushed just a little further out of the comfort zone than she normally dared to tread.

“At the e-edge of the bed, Face all flushed and red…”

She stood, grinning wickedly, all the better to add a couple of cheeky gestures to go with her words.

“He hammered and he-eld you! Now you’re giving him—" “Ahem,” a polite little cough from behind Ahuska cut her words short, and she froze like a kybuck caught in speeder lights.

Almost comically slow, the Bothan turned with her breath caught in her throat, to see none other than Ziminder gods-damned Antilles himself, standing right there in the flesh. Her song turned into a mortified squeak, and all it took was one horrified glance over to Blakk to catch that proud little cat-smile curling his lips for her to realise just how perfectly she’d been played. The fething Agent had set her up! Her ears hadn’t flushed quite so bright a shade of crimson since the time she’d walked in on  Nines and Lyrisal performing roughly the same act she’d been about to describe in song, and she found herself just as flustered and stuttering as back then.

“I um, ah, oh, uhhhh. Hi I was just um…”

“You must be Blakk’s friend!” The holo-star swept aside her fumbled words and took up one of her trembling hands. He’d heard every word, of course, as Blakk’s timing had been impeccable, and he too recognised the smirk that had graced his old friend’s expression. Quickly re-assessing the situation, Zim had cut in before Ahuska had completely disgraced herself and worked to set her at ease.

Ahuska still felt her ears burning as Zim lifted her hand with practiced grace, landing a delicate kiss on top of it. “I… ahh, yes, uh…”

“Ahuska, is it? He never mentioned what a lovely singing voice you have! It’s my absolute pleasure to meet you. Please, please allow me to buy you a drink…”

---

Crow paused for a moment, looking out across the open air café, bright and bustling in the early afternoon light, watching his wife laugh and tease. That Agent always made him uneasy, despite her constant assurances that he’d never sell them out, despite her unerring trust in him. When they were joined by another fellow, it gave him a bit of a start; wasn’t that that actor? That Antilles lad—wasn’t his House quite firmly allied with the Republic?

He found himself smiling, and more thoughtful than he’d expected to be. There she was, his Ahuska, giggling at a table with an Imperial Agent on one side and a Republic noble on the other. And she, like him, somebody who had rejected both, choosing a life free of the bounds of either of the galaxy’s major governments. And yet… yet… there they were, finding common ground, somewhere, existing together without the bloodshed and the ultimatums that he’d become so accustomed to between the factions. Maybe there was hope for the galaxy yet, even if bonds were built one being at a time.

And then the light caught Ahuska’s ears just so, and Crow realised how flushed she was. He hadn’t seen her turn that shade of red since he’d had a certain (Completely tasteful! Absolutely inoffensive! Very flattering!) painting of himself delivered to her tent at the old Clan headquarters, so many years ago. Whatever had happened just now, she was embarrassed as hell, and Crow took that as his cue to step in and perform his solemn duty of deflecting attention.

“Hey there!” The rough cheeked, scarred Mandalorian swaggered over, one hand forcefully extended in an offer for Zim to shake. “I see you’ve met my wife! Aren’t you the fellow who was in that toilet cleaner commercial when you were twelve…??”

[wulfrann]

Contrast (AFTG Exchange Winter 2019)

All for the Game

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

Additional Tags: Meet-cute, Painter!Neil Josten, Journalist!Andrew Minyard, Bonding over Shared Trauma

[One-shot - 5452 words - Published 2019-12-16]

I wrote this for @sofiescastle! You asked for a meet-cute, so that’s what I tried to do. I’m not that good at writing rom-com-y situations, but I gave it my best and I hope you’ll enjoy it!!

( @aftgexchange Sorry that I’m posting this on the last day possible. I’m really bad at deadlines.)

Summary:

Painting is everything for Neil. It’s what’s kept him going while he was on the run, and it’s what pays for his flat and his food nowadays. So when the man who made this dream a reality asks him to paint a mural for his shopfront, Neil is more than happy to say yes - and that’s before he realised that Wymack actually inteded to pay him.

Neil gets more than he bargained for, however, when a normal day of work ends up accidentally involving one angry, blond Minyard with a taste for expensive shirts.

Read on AO3

* Neil shut the trunk of the van and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving spots and specks of paint at various stages of drying upon the rough fabric. Better his work clothes than the steering wheel, although the inside of the van certainly wasn’t spotless. Neil had only so much energy devoted to keeping things clean, and he tended to use it on his possessions that weren’t part of his work, like dishes and his couch.

(Granted, he’d found the couch next to a garbage can, but once his friends had helped him get it cleaned up and brought into his apartment, no one could have told the difference. And it’d made the space look permanent, which wasn’t a word Neil’d ever had a habit of using for the places he lived in. But now? Now he had a carpet.)

Neil got into the van and grabbed his phone. He went to his contacts, clicked on one of his favorites, and counted the ringtones it took for Wymack to pick up.

“Hey, kiddo,” Wymack’s gruff voice said after the third beep. “You at the shop yet?”

“Not yet. I just finished loading the van, I should be there in ten minutes.”

As he spoke, Neil put the key into the ignition and checked the time. He’d told Wymack he would be there by 9, and he would be.

“Alright. Text me when you’re parked, I’ll help you unload and show you what you’re working with.”

“I can-”

“Nope, don’t even try,” Wymack’s voice cut off. “You’re doing me a favor, kid, I’m helping you get your shit out of your shit car whether you like it or not.”

“It’s not a favor,” Neil pointed out.“You’re paying me.”

“Damn right I am, so you better do as I say,” Wymack concluded, then hung up before Neil could say anything else.

Neil pulled the handbrake and started the car.

It took him exactly 7 seven minutes to reach The Foxhole’s block, and barely another to find a practical parking place nearby. At nine in the morning on a monday, he hadn’t expected anything less.

Neil debated unloading the trunk by himself after all (he estimated that he had about five minutes before Wymack got tired of waiting for his call and showed up to check the premises), but decided he was grateful for the job and for Wymack in general, and dutifully sent the text he’d been asked for.

Wymack arrived two minutes later. They had all of Neil’s supplies by the coffeeshop in five, and Neil wasted no time getting it all ready once that was done.

Wymack picked up a roll of masking tape. “You can paint over everything from here,” he said, putting a piece of tape on the pavement roughly one meter to the left of the coffee shop's shutter door, and then another one on the right, “to here.”

Neil glanced up from the bucket of soap water he was hunched over to check. Wymack had shown him the surface he would be working with already, when he’d come over a few days ago to talk it out. The coffee shop had been open though, so he hadn’t been able to see the whole thing. As far as canvases went, it was pretty great..

“You can paint as high as the ground floor goes, since I don’t own the whole building,” Wymack added. “And keep the sign clean.”

Neil unfolded the stepladder and propped it next to the wall, a few centimeters left of the paintable surface so it wouldn’t be in the way at the beginning when he didn’t need it.

“Anything else?”

“Just make it look good. I’ve already approved the sketches.” He clapped a heavy hand on Neil’s shoulder. “You’ve got talent.”

Neil breathed in, blowing the tension that Wymack’s gesture had awakened out of his system and into the sunny morning air. “Thank you, sir.”

Wymack squeezed his shoulder once and let go. “Now get on with it. I’ve got accounts to review.”

“Yes sir,” Neil said, earning an eyeroll.

Then Wymack was leaving, and Neil was smiling as he turned to the wall. He grabbed the mop and started to clean the dust and grime off of it.

The Foxhole’s shopfront was already painted a solid color, a green that Wymack wanted to keep for the background, so all the prep that was left after that was taping the borders and protecting the sign and the ground with tarps.

Neil had used grids before, to help him stay accurate and faithful to the proportions, and he had to admit they were useful, but he’d decided early on that he wouldn’t use one for this mural. It wasn’t heavy on perspective or placement like some of his work could be, for once, but mostly he just liked it better when he was working freehand. It left more breathing room for the instinctive changes Neil liked to bring to the designs as he transformed the idea into the real thing. Sketches never translated perfectly onto their medium, especially murals. It could be frustrating, as they never turned out exactly as he’d expected, but that was what he loved most about it.

The design for The Foxhole’s mural was simple enough. Wymack had asked for ‘foxes and flowers’; Abby had wanted it ‘wild and welcoming’. So that was what Neil had given them.

Foxes, small ones, ran and played and grew strong on the shutter door, with azaleas all around and peach blossoms above. One bigger fox sat watching them on a bed of mayflowers. Proteas stood behind it, mirrored on the opposite side of the mural where an oak tree stood guard. It was a sunny scene and there was peace there, but the foxes had teeth and claws and their edges were sharp enough to cut.

Neil started with a pencil. He sketched the rough shapes according to his template, taking care not to smudge the lines, then worked his way to the finer details and rearranged a few things as he went. Once he was satisfied with it, he finally got to uncap the cans of paint. He started with the base colors, filling the lines with orange, pink, white, brown and dark green, taking care not to let the paint drip anywhere it wasn’t supposed to.

Once the base was done, he had to take a break. The acrylic needed about an hour to dry completely, so he figured he’d stretch his limbs and eat a late lunch. He couldn’t wander too far off without risking a theft, however, and ended up buying a cheap and bland sandwich from the bakery that faced the coffee shop.

It was only then that his favorite part began. Now he could blend the colors, mix them, work out the details and the shading, add movement and life to the scene. Now he got to play with textures and patterns and lighting, with the bark of the oak and the bite of the fox and the brightness of the mayflowers. On a whim, he decided to add a thick, black outline to the foxes, jagged and irregular, stylizing it so it looked almost like a flame. He made the flowers look brighter in contrast, turned the tree into a foil, tweaked the light so it flirted with the mystical.

At some point, Neil edged out of his frenzy long enough to take several steps back and look at the whole thing.

It was perfect.

Except for all the ways it wasn’t.

Neil picked up the smaller brushes and went in again, correcting details here and there, chasing a perfection that would remain out of reach for as long as he’d keep looking for it. That was fine by him - Neil didn’t actually want the mural to be perfect. All he was after, all he needed, was that moment - that there it is, where he’d take a step back and exhale, and everything would just - settle. And he’d knew that was it.

He was getting close, Neil could feel it, so very close, when the stupidest thing happened.

Neil had just noticed something off with the color of one of the proteas and had stepped down the ladder to retrieve the brush he’d been using for the deep pinks, rushing back towards the mural immediately, when someone had run into him.

Or, perhaps more accurately, when he had crashed into someone. With a paintbrush dripping pink and his hands (and everything else) covered in paint.

There was a rough sound from the someone as they collided, and then the wet sound of a paintbrush full of paint landing against a hard surface. The someone was shorter, so Neil looked down.

Very, very annoyed eyes met his.

The guy stepped back with a scowl, letting his hand drop from Neil’s arm, where it’d landed, Neil assumed, to steady the both of them. He was blond, and broad, and dressed in all black from head to toe. It made the large pink stain on his chest all the more conspicuous.

In terms of contrast though, Neil couldn’t help but notice, it worked. Pale hair, pale skins and golden eyes set against a vast darkness, dominating the whole but for one splash of vibrant color. It was threefold, and ridiculous, and Neil wanted to paint it.

Which is why Neil said, “I think I found your color,” instead of apologizing like a normal person. 

But to be fair, he hadn’t been ‘normal’ since his birth. Being born into the mafia tended to do that to you.

The man’s eyebrows twitched, and the corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly down. “What you did is ruin my shirt.”

Neil felt a smile pull at his lips. “I don’t know. I think it looks better that way. Makes you look more... approachable. Less like a criminal, what with all the black.”

“I don’t care about looking ‘approachable.’ And you’re the one vandalising someone else’s private property.”

“I’m not vandalising anything. This is my job. I have a permit and everything.”

“Congratulations,” the man deadpanned.

“I’ve done it before,” Neil said, smiling sharply. “Painting illegally. It’s not typically done by daylight.”

“How surprising. I take it you’re Wymack’s new stray.”

Neil’s smile vanished. “I’m not a stray,” he said, though he had been. But he’d worked hard to make sure he’d never be again. Then the rest of the man’s statement struck him, and he couldn’t help but ask. “How do you know Wymack?”

“I used to work for him,” the man answered, laconically. Neil waited for him to say more, but he just turned around to stare at the mural instead. Something itched in Neil’s hands - an urge to hide it, protect it from all eyes until it was perfect - but he let it go. He took a step forward so he was standing next to the man instead of behind him, and looked at the mural for himself.

One of the proteas was paler than the others. There was a leaf he’d forgotten to highlight. One of the azalea’s pistil was barely visible. The outline of one fox could use more precision.

They were little things - inconsequential but nonetheless present, and he felt a pull to correct them - but even then, something in his chest just - settled.

“Kitschy,” the man’s voice drawled on his left. “But I suppose that’s fitting.”

Neil shrugged. He was happy with it. It did fit the place, but also the vibe he’d wanted for it. “It’s done.”

The man’s gaze flickered down to the paintbrush Neil still held in his hand, one eyebrow arched in question although his face looked bored.

Neil shrugged again. “I thought it needed more. I was wrong,” he stated, and smiled at the man, half-grinning by the end. “Thank you for the change of perspective. I could have ruined it, if I hadn’t run into you.”

“How… fortunate,” the man said, flat-voiced and not meaning a word of it.

Neil took the whole mural in one last time, then slightly shook his head and turned to clean up his mess. He dumped the brushes in the bucket of water he’d used to clean the wall, then picked up one of the rags he used to wipe paint off and handed it to the man. He’d turned away from the wall as well, and took the rag with both eyebrows raised.

Neil gestured at his own chest, around where the stain was. “So you can wipe the worst of the paint off,” he explained, then pointed at the bucket. “Dunk it in the water there, it’s got soap in. It won’t take it all of, but I’ll take you to my place once I’m done packing up and you can wash it there.”

“Why would I do that?”

Neil blinked up from the paint can he was closing. “Because I live like ten minutes away and I have a washer and dryer?”

“I don’t know you.”

Neil shrugged. “I’m Neil,” he said, holding out his hand. The man stared at it without moving. Neil looked at it, noticed the amount of paint smeared on it, and took it away. “Neil Josten. I’m a painter.”

“I noticed,” the man said, then rolled his eyes at Neil’s expectant look. “Andrew Minyard.”

Neil grinned. “I’ve heard about you. Are you the journalist, or the doctor?”

Andrew scowled. “Journalist.”

Neil hummed. “Thought so.”

Andrew went back to wiping his shirt with the wet cloth, and Neil walked over to the bucket so he could start scrubbing the brushes clean.

He always lost himself in the task. There was something cathartic about sitting there, rubbing the paint off and seeing it swirl and mix in the water, after spending so many hours with his mind directed solely at the mural, attention and focus held so taut that he’d sometimes forget to blink. Tidying up, in contrast, was a mindless task. It set his brain at rest and allowed him to come back down to earth.

By the time he was finished, Andrew was long done with his shirt and stood leaning against the wall with his cellphone in hand, waiting.

“Changed your mind?” Neil called out to him.

Andrew barely even glanced at him. “I’m not the one inviting a stranger into my home.”

Neil shrugged. “You know Wymack. That’s enough for me.”

“Your survival instincts are disastrous.”

Neil’s grin split his face in half. “You have no idea.”

That earned him a look, but nothing else.

Loading everything back into the van took longer without help (Andrew looked up a few times as Neil came and went, but that was it), but soon enough everything had been put away and all that was left for Neil to do was to tell Wymack he was done. When he looked up from his phone, he found Andrew standing some ways in front of him, his own phone nowhere to be seen.

Neil tilted his head towards the passenger door. “Ready to go?”

All he got in reply was a soft huff, and then Andrew was opening the door and getting in. Neil was smiling as he walked over to the other side of the van and hopped in.

“The paint will wash off,” Neil offered as the van rumbled to life. “It resists to the rain, but not the washing machine.”

“We all have a breaking point.”

Neil supposed that was true. He’d seen plenty of people break, and had come close himself several times.

Unlike paint, though, people could get back up. Even when there was more scar tissue left than skin, muscles would pull and pull at the the body until it stood.

Neil didn’t say this. He didn’t know how, and doubted Andrew would understand if he had. 

Then again, if he’d worked with Wymack, maybe he would.

It was this thought, and the comforting manoeuvering of his van through an itinerary he knew in his sleep, that pushed Neil to try.

“People are more like bones than paint,” he told Andrew. The look he got in response was so intentionally bored it pushed Neil to try harder. Like maybe, if he could find the right words, Andrew’s blank surface would crack and he’d get a glimpse at the colors hidden beneath. “Paint washes off. Or fades. And if you want to, you can always cover it up,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Andrew anymore, but the attention directed at him was unwavering as he spoke. “People aren’t so easy to get rid off. We bend, and we give, and we break,” he took a steadying breath, eyes intent on the road even as the mangled lines marring his hands pulled at the skin, “but we mend. We scar. We stand back up. And we keep going.”

Run, his mother had told him more than once. Never look back. There is nothing for you there.

It had worked for him, for a while. As long as he hadn’t looked back, all that had existed for him was a narrow path forward, and the impossibility to slow down. His survival had depended on it. But when she’d died - Neil’d stumbled. She had died and Neil had tripped over her corpse and nothing would ever wash that landmark off the surface of his life. Neil had slowed down. The path had still been there, but everything around it had been there, too. A little blurred, a little out of focus, but the longer he had stared, the clearer it had become - and the slower he had run.

Of course, it’d meant that they caught up to him.

But he’d survived.

He had found help and had gotten back up and he had kept going.

And through it all, he’d learned to stop running.

“Not all of us do.”

Andrew’s voice startled Neil. It brought him out of autopilot and pulled his thoughts back to traffic as efficiently as if he’d been pinched. It took several seconds for the words to make sense.

“No,” Neil agreed. “We don’t. My mother didn’t,” he added, flicking a glance at Andrew’s profile and smiling when Andrew turned to look at him and stayed. “But I did. And I have a feeling you did too.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“That’s not true,” Neil countered. “I know you worked for Wymack. I know you’re a journalist, and that you have a twin who’s a doctor and whose name also starts with an A. I also know that Kevin thinks your diet’s disastrous and your journalistic skills impressive. Judging from the articles I’ve read, I’d say he’s right.”

“So you really are Neil Josten,” Andrew retorted, something tense in his tone. “I wondered. Tell me, are you this obsessed with every acquaintance Kevin has, or should I feel flattered?”

“I’m not a stalker,” Neil protested. “Kevin just can’t shut up about you. And I get why. That piece you did on the Moriyamas -” Neil cut himself off before he could say you were right. He was not ready for that conversation. Maybe later, if their paths crossed again, which - Neil was surprised to find out - he was hoping they would. He faltered for a bit, before settling for an honest, “It was brilliant,” and hoping Andrew wouldn’t question it.

No such luck.

“Was it now,” Andrew droned. It wasn’t said like a question.

Neil tensed. He knew Andrew had noticed when he met his eyes, but stubbornly refused to acknowledge it as he started to park his van in the exact same spot he’d pulled it out of in the morning. He was thankful when he started to unload his equipment and Andrew didn’t pry. He just stood there and smoked.

When you feel yourself start to spiral, focus on what your senses tell you, not your mind, his therapist had said. Neil dutifully focused on the task at hand and the smell of ash until the taste of blood had all but vanished from his mouth.

When he’d locked the door to the shed he kept all his work stuff in, Neil finally felt centered enough to speak again.

“I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” he told Andrew. “Sir’s very affectionate.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “You’re cat’s name is Sir.”

Neil grinned. This was a topic he could relax into. “Sir Fat Cat MacCattherson. She’s fat.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Neil led them to the stairs. Andrew didn’t protest.

“I’m not the one who named him. Do you know Allison?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, distaste evident in his voice. “Tragically.”

Neil shrugged. “She’s not that bad.” Andrew apparently had nothing to say to that. Neil wasn’t deterred. “Do you have a pet?”

“I have a cat.”

“What’s its name then?”

A pause. Then an aggravated sigh. “King Fluffkins.”

Neil stopped. He turned around to catch the expression on Andrew’s face, and raised both eyebrows. “I’m going to guess it wasn’t your idea.”

Andrew looked unimpressed. “Congratulations, it was my cousin’s. You guessed correctly and win nothing,” he deadpanned, and pushed past Neil.

They stopped on the first floor. Andrew remained silent as Neil opened the three locks on his door, and didn’t question it when Neil locked them back up once they’d slipped inside.

Sir came up to them to investigate as soon as she’d heard the door, as Neil had known she would. She headbutted Neil’s shin first, then wandered over to sniff Andrew. He waited for her to rub against his leg before offering her his hand, which she sniffed some more, then rubbed against to ask for petting. Andrew dutifully indulged her. The softness that came over his features was subtle, but unmistakable. It caught Neil by surprise.

Once Sir had had her fill and wandered off, however, all the tension that’d left immediately returned to Andrew’s shoulders.

Neil could sympathise. Entering someone else’s space always left him on edge the first few times. It’d taken months for him to feel at ease in the flat Matt shared with Dan, and they’d already been friends. Andrew and Neil were strangers. Allowing him in his flat would have been unthinkable years ago; now it simply left Neil unbalanced. At least he’d have something to report to his therapist the following week.

“Is it okay if I throw some of my stuff in with your shirt?” Neil asked to distract himself from the feeling. When Andrew nodded, he retrieved the laundry basket in his room.

He pointed Andrew towards the laundry/storage room with his chin and Andrew held the door open for him, since his own hands were occupied with the laundry basket. He emptied it into the washing machine, then picked out the few items that would need some stain-remover to go back to their original state.

“I’m surprised we didn’t meet earlier,” Neil mused out loud as he poured the detergent into the little plastic drawer and pushed it shut.

Andrew was leaning against the wall when Neil turned around, watching him. “Kevin likes to keep his life compartmentalised.”

“He’s dating a former Raven,” Neil pointed out, frowning.

“Former. Why do you think they haven’t tried to transfer into the same team?” Andrew said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Neil thought about it. He’d assumed Kevin had tried, but had never been curious enough to ask. It made sense now. It’d also explain why they still hadn’t made their relationship public.

“I just thought Kevin was emotionally crippled,” he said.

“He is,” Andrew stated, then gestured impatiently with his hand. “But I’m done talking about Kevin’s boring life.”

“He’s a gold-winning olympic athlete,” Neil pointed out.

Andrew made a disgusted sound. “ He’s Kevin. He could be the queen of England, and I’d still be bored discussing his life for more than two minutes.” He shifted against the wall so he was facing Neil, eyes narrowed and suddenly sharper than they’d been. “I’d rather we talk about you, Neil Josten. I can’t figure you out.”

Neil’s hand tensed on the edge of the washing machine. He put it in his pocket and leaned a hip where it had been, smiling to hide the learned anxiety that was rising in his guts.

“I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, but I think you are,” Andrew said, leaning slightly forward like he wanted to tell Neil a secret. “Everything about you says damaged goods, yet here you are. Bringing a stranger into your home on a whim. Doesn’t exactly align with the amount of locks you’ve got on your door, now, does it?”

Neil bristled. “I’m not defenseless.”

Andrew looked into his eyes without flinching. “No,” he said, a thoughtful tone to it. “I don’t think you are.”

Neil frowned. He didn’t know what Andrew meant by that. Was he talking about his scars? Had Neil let his past show, somehow? Had Kevin talked more than he should have?

Neil shook his head. Relax. Took a deep breath. You’re not on the run anymore.

He leaned away from the washing machine and gestured at Andrew’s stained shirt. “I’ll get you a shirt or something so you can take this off.”

Andrew said nothing. He followed Neil to his room, stopping at the entrance to lean against the doorframe as Neil rummaged through his clothes. He had the nagging feeling that he was being evaluated, somehow. Andrew was judging him. Neil decided to ignore it and focused on finding a t-shirt that would fit Andrew’s broader frame, settling on a grey hoodie that’d always been a little oversized on him.

“Here,” he said, handing the hoodie to Andrew, who took it without a word. “You can change in the bathroom over there.”

The hoodie fitted Andrew fine. It was a little tight around the arms and shoulders, but not enough that it looked uncomfortable. Neil took the shirt from Andrew and sprayed the stain-remover where it was needed, then threw it into the machine and started the cleaning cycle.

“It’s gonna take about an hour for the cycle to be over,” he told Andrew. “And then another half-hour for it to dry.”

Andrew’s brows furrowed slightly, but he did not otherwise complain, so Neil told him to make himself comfortable on the couch and slipped into his own room to change. He threw his work overalls on a chair so the fresh stains from the mural would dry, and exchanged it for a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

Andrew’s eyes trailed over his arms when he returned to the living room, a spark of interest in his gaze as he took in the mismatched mix of tattoos and scars that covered them. If he noticed that Neil had caught him looking, it didn’t show. Maybe he didn’t care. Neil brushed it off either way and made his way over to the kitchen part of the room, pulling one glass out of a cabinet then turning towards Andrew.

“Do you want something to drink? I’ve got tap water and juice.”

“Depends on the juice.”

Neil opened the fridge to check. “I’ve got apple, tomato, orange, ananas, or grapefruit.”

“Apple. That’s a lot of juices.”

“I like juice,” Neil said, and shrugged. He got the brick of apple juice out of the fridge and poured two glasses of it, shutting the fridge’s door with his hip. He stuck the juice under one armpit then and brought the glasses over to the coffee table, setting one of them down in front of Andrew. He sat down on the other cushion with his own glass.

Andrew sipped at the juice. Neil leaned down into the back of the couch and sighed. He could feel his body finally allowing itself to relax after the hours of painting. He turned his head towards Andrew and was about to ask him if he wanted to watch a movie or something while they waited when Andrew glanced down at his exposed forearm.

“What does this one represent?” he asked.

Neil followed his gaze down to the tattoo. It was one of the first ones he’d gotten: the outline of a card, with a burning car trapped inside. Below the card was a date.

Neil swallowed. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of it now, even after all those years. It burned his eyes. He looked away from the tattoo and found Andrew’s eyes instead, studying him. Brown eyes, like the earth. Unwavering.

He didn’t know why, exactly, looking into Andrew’s eyes made the words spill. But they did.

“It’s my mother’s funeral,” he said. His voice was low. Barely above a whisper. Andrew was listening. “She died in that car. I was too weak to pull her out, so I burned it.” If Neil closed his eyes, he could see it. The vast expanse of sand and the sea, rolling back and forth in rhythm. The flames filling up the car like they were trying to eat it. The smell.

Andrew bumped his knee with Neil’s and the beach disappeared.

“I buried her ashes on the beach.”

Andrew held his gaze for a little while longer, and then he turned away. His other knee - the one he hadn’t used to bring Neil back - jumped three times. When he spoke, his voice sounded oddly distant.

“The woman who gave birth to me abandoned me to the foster system. When we were ‘reunited’, I found out she’d been abusing my brother for years.” Andrew took a sip out of his glass. “So I killed her.”

Neil wasn’t as surprised as he probably ought to be. There was something about Andrew that spoke of violence. Not right here. Not in the present. Yet it was etched into him like a giant scar.

“What about your father?”

Andrew shrugged. “Doesn’t exist.”

Neil sighed. “I wish I’d never known mine,” he said. “But at least I got to see him die.”

The weight of Andrew’s gaze on the side of his face was strangely comforting. When he raised his glass in the air, Neil turned to follow the motion with his eyes.

“To dead parents,” Andrew said, and tipped his glass back.

Neil laughed.

*

They watched Grey’s Anatomy. Neil managed to make it through the first two minutes of the first episode before starting to roast the stupidity of the cast. Andrew joined in immediately. Neil laughed too many times to count, and managed to make Andrew snort several times in return.

They were well into the third episode when Andrew’s phone rang. The phone call itself couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds, but by the time Andrew had hung up, it was clear that he needed to go.

They’d forgotten to check on the laundry, however, so it’d just sat there in the washing machine for at least half an hour, which meant that Andrew’s shirt wasn’t dry. It also meant that Andrew couldn’t trade it for the hoodie he was still wearing.

In the end, Neil told Andrew to keep the hoodie, and Andrew gave Neil his phone number so they could meet up and return their respective items of clothing. Neil didn’t have a habit of inviting people over, but the flat felt oddly empty once Andrew was gone. He went for a run. It helped.

They traded the hoodie and the shirt a few days later. They’d agreed on the coffee shop where Andrew got his caffeine fix every day, and sat down to wait for their drinks. Neil asked what Andrew was working on, and just like a whole hour passed.

There was no reason that they should meet again after that. Sure, they’d probably cross paths sooner or later due to their intersecting social circles. But there was no reason to make it happen on their own.

Except - well.

There was no reason that they shouldn’t meet again, either.

*

[5:24pm] Hey, Andrew.

[5:26pm] Neil.

[5:26pm] I need a favor.

[5:27pm] Careful, Neil. You already owe me a shirt.

[5:28pm] Like hell I do. Your shirt is fine.

[5:29pm] Easy for you to say. You don’t have to wear it.

[5:30pm] The shirt is fine, Andrew.

[5:31pm] Would you go to art therapy with me next weekend?

[5:32pm] Why?

[5:36pm] My therapist thinks I should try it. She said it could ‘help me address some of the more repressed parts of my trauma.’

[5:38pm] Sounds fun.

[5:38pm] Ha ha.

[5:40pm] Are you coming with or not?

[5:42pm] Sure. But I’m not painting.

[5:43pm] You won’t have to. I’ll text you the address and time.

[5:44pm] Thanks, Andrew.

[5:46pm] Don’t mention it.

[split-n-splice]

"I'm weak on the whole dating thing. Seriously, that whole Drakken business didn't leave a lot of time for socializing." Gee! I wonder, why was she so quick to blame Drakken? ;D

Also, song in mind for Drakken is Thunderstruck...which will come back next chapter in a really corny way because I love bad puns apparently.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

30. Aura of Others – 4

Angel boy greeted her with a handshake, which she declined. Her palms were sweaty but that wasn’t their worst offense. She kept them hidden behind her back, too struck by the spike of nerves stinging her palms that she almost didn’t catch his name. Thomas Thompson. His friends called him Tom, Tom Tom, or Tommy. She decided on Tom.

She forgot her own name, and her condition was worsened when she realized the rockhound was waiting for it in turn. Torn between spitting up an alias and her real name, she nearly blurted the wrong answer, barely managing to stutter out, “She— Shilo. It’s Shilo.”

Angel boy – Tom – let his outstretched hand fall. He gave a small awkward laugh and got the door, gesturing her in. “Hope you weren’t waiting long,” he apologized. It sounded strangely sincere. She almost believed it was.

Shilo took a deep breath and willed the heat away from her skin, wishing it could just stay locked away burning in the pit of her stomach. “Just a couple minutes,” she fibbed with a meek shrug. It had been more like twenty, but at least half of that was on her for showing up early.

She lingered at an awkward distance as she faced the cause of the hellfire threatening to burn her alive. Tom threw glances over his shoulder at her, flashing wavering smiles, until she was forced to face him head-on once seated at a table for two. Directly beside the stage, no less. She tried to find her voice and suggest elsewhere, but options were limited as the place was packed tonight.

She gathered the extra bustle was due to a portion of the town’s power grid going down due to the weather. Her part, by the sound of things. Something about a downed tree taking power poles with it. She was too caught up in eavesdropping on the table over and avoiding eye contact to immediately notice Tom was fishing for her attention until he fanned his menu at her.

Going rigid at the breeze, she snuck a glance at the aquamarine eyes sparkling at her. She barely heard him inquire on her age. She barely remembered what it even was with him looking at her – but the age he gave her in turn sent a strange swell of nerves mixing around in her stomach. He was twenty. Less than a year older than her – that was perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal, she assured herself inwardly. He only asked because he was curious if she drank. As Shilo’s eyes strayed across the establishment to locate a familiar mullet at the bar, she lied and said she didn’t. It was a poorly executed joke, as it turned out, and Tom ordered her a diet soft drink before she could order a coke for herself.

She tried to ignore the technical difficulties occurring on stage as she skimmed over the menu, and tried not to peek over the top of it toward Tom or the rogue doctor who’d resigned to slumping at the bar a ways behind him. She saw Drakken knock back at least two shots, and there was no telling how much he’d downed when she wasn’t looking.

Too unfocused to give the menu any real consideration, she ordered something she knew they had and she liked – chicken strips with a side of jojos. And a salad, she added under Tom’s studying stare. He’d been vegetarian for nine months, she learned. She couldn’t care less about his grilled eggplant.

Participants began taking the stage again. As each sang their number and moved along, she dreaded whoever might come next. She nibbled uneasily on her jojos, only half-listening to Tom’s criticisms of the wannabes. He boasted about being a soprano in choir. She’d heard Drakken sing at quite a high pitch too, and she wasn’t eager to hear Tom anytime soon – but unfortunately, Tom had other plans. He’d signed up and was patiently waiting his turn.

“You should try it,” he suggested. “It’s fun,” he promised.

She almost bought it. Wouldn’t that get under Drakken’s skin, to take the stage just because some angel boy urged her to? She had to shake her head. “I’ll pass,” she said. “I can’t sing.” According to the curious blue man now eyeballing her from the bar, that was a lie. She kept her head down, wishing she hadn’t worn her hair up so she could at least hide her flushed cheeks a little behind it.

Tom went on to make a meager attempt to egg her on but got a clue quick that it was futile. “Maybe next time we can try the bowling alley,” he said sheepishly.

Next time? She almost laughed but the incredulous noise that escaped her in its place was laced with nerves. “Y-yeah,” she stuttered. “Maybe. Where’s that at?”

Angel boy arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding me?” he said, blinking incredulously at her. Shilo’s smile was strained. “Everyone knows about the bowling alley. It’s practically a historical building around here.” She really wasn’t thrilled to have ignorance rubbed in, but kept her mouth shut. The talkative boy wove his hands under his chin and leaned over the table toward her, a dazzling smile scorching through her. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“Is it my accent?” she guessed awkwardly. She wouldn’t even say she had one – but maybe a Nevadan local might notice she was from out of the area.

“No,” said Tom, lowering his voice. “You were on TV. You’re—,” he shut his mouth, eyes flicking around the crowded room. A wise move – now if only he’d shut up completely. Shilo sat rigid, none too eager to hear her alias from his mouth. He bit back a nervous chuckle and sat back, fighting off the grin. “I think it’s amazing what you do.”

Discerning what she was being praised for wasn’t exactly rocket science. Whether he was amazed by the heroic acts of her former life or the misdeeds she’d indulged in since arriving in this oasis town, she forced on a smile and turned her nervous eyes down to poke at her salad. “What gave it away?” she wondered uneasily, though she really didn’t want to continue the subject. Maybe he’d spell it out for her what aspect appealed to him – though she already had a pretty good idea which side of her some religious vegetarian with a stance against alcohol would fancy.

“Lucky guess,” he whispered above the ending wails of a karaoke participant, and Shilo decided trick-or-treating in uniform had definitely been a foolhardy thing to do. “Um…We shouldn’t talk about this here, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes on him, a little more hostile than she meant to be. “Take a guess,” she suggested. She cleared her throat then, trying with difficulty to reclaim some of the fluster that had dissipated. His charm was wearing off fast. “Um. I mean, yeah. I’ve, um. Come out west to take a break. Get some me-time in,” she fibbed. “It was pretty demanding work.”

“So you’ve given it up?”

Her eyes flicked up to the almost crestfallen young man. “Classified,” she said shortly and stuffed tasteless salad in her mouth. As he watched her, she realized that she really should have denied everything from the get-go.

She should have known better, but disappointment still got the best of her. So that was it. Thomas Thompson’s interest in her wasn’t in her – it was in a superheroine who went by a stage name. It had to be. A chill sank into her bones, smothering the inferno that had been straining to flare and flow freely until now. So what? So what if he liked some nonexistent supergirl? She was Shilo tonight and Shego wasn’t the superhuman she used to be, and she wasn’t going to go out of her way to clean up the town no matter what sad look he gave her. And if he dared to blow her cover, then she’d just have to find something even worse to do to him than steal some stupid valuable rocks.

Another thought crept over her, churning her stomach and obliterating her appetite completely. If he’d figured it out, some small-town nobody, who else had? The damn Team Go jet had been parked out on the front lawn all day, for crying out loud. It was a dead giveaway. It had even made local news! Hugo couldn’t learn the meaning of subtle if it was engraved on a brick and chucked at his head. How he ever went so long with a secret identity was a mystery.

“Nothing wrong with time away to find yourself,” said Tom eventually, sounding awfully disenchanted. Good. “Have you thought of finding—?”

“Thomas Thompson, if you say Jesus, I swear to God,” Shilo hissed, pointing a lettuce-laden fork at him. The young man looked taken aback. Remembering why she was wasting her time on this absurd date in the first place, she forced another smile and a small laugh. “I’m kidding. It was a joke.”

“Hah,” he said in lieu of a real laugh, still visibly unsettled. He shifted in his seat. “I’d still like to get to know you better. If that’s cool with you.”

Movement behind him caught her eye, and whatever he was spieling about movie tickets went in one ear and out the other now. She tried not to look straight at Drakken swaggering across the room, weaving between tables and nearly knocking into a busboy. Shilo realized he was heading for the stage – but first, the tipsy man took a few paces past the steps to make an odd gesture behind Thomas. Her eyes narrowed on the smirking rogue doctor fluttering his hands behind the angel boy like a pair of little wings.

His secret mocking didn’t help the warmth creeping back to the surface.

Tom turned to glance back and Shilo snapped her eyes back to her half-cleared plate. Drakken was already marching up onto the stage.

The screen to feed him the lines was snubbed with a haughty laugh and he cleared his throat, or maybe he was just choking on spit. She knew the boozy rogue doctor was going to go all out when he scooped up the microphone. He gave a thumbs up to whoever was in charge of the system, and the track started. Shilo leaned forward on her elbows and squeezed her eyes shut as the man on stage took the moment to exercise his vocal cords, rocking on his heels and nodding along as he fell into the rhythm before stomping to a thunderous rock beat , effectively earning attention of diners. It wasn’t as good as the original, and he’d had a bit too much to drink to perform at his best, but no one could say he wasn’t enthusiastic.

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them at the blatant attention-seeking, but she was bound and determined not to give him the time of day.

“This guy,” huffed Tom. There was something less than holy in angel boy’s tone as the current drunk participant began wholeheartedly reciting verses by heart while Shilo’s stomach knotted up.

She risked cracking her eyes open, raising her brow at Tom. “You know him?” she wondered as the volume rose.

“No, it’s just!” Tom waved off toward the stage, though Drakken was all but jigging directly above them now. He spoke behind his hand then. “Every time he’s here, he totally hogs the mic.” She could picture that.

She tried not to glance toward the oxfords skittering nearby. “You come here often?”

Tom shrugged one shoulder in an ambiguous answer and sat back to sip his diet soda and watch the soloist rocking out. As Shilo was gauging him, his critical eyes turned curious and back on her, flicking upward and back. “Do you know this guy?”

“Nope,” she said with a pop, fidgeting with her straw to swirl the ice in her glass.

“He’s sure looking at you a lot.”

She didn’t need to look up to see for herself. She could feel it. Playing it off, she shook her ponytail from side to side. “What can I say? I’m hot stuff,” she quipped as cooly as possible.

Tom stared at her for a long moment before a genuine grin cracked across his face and a chortle broke out. “Is that because – because of—?” He held his hand up and wiggled his fingers as if to imitate her fire. Her face heated, and if the angelic moron wasn’t careful, he’d soon be treating burns. So he got the joke. It wasn’t that funny. He could quit giggling about it any time now.

He reined it in, wiping the smile off his face. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggested. “This guy’s creeping me out. He’s kind of a freak.”

While Dr. Drakken was rightfully off-putting, boozy and jamming out on stage mere feet away, thoroughly humiliating her, she still shook her head. She let the freak comment slide – this time. “We can leave after I see what you can do,” she said.

Drakken’s number ended. He put the microphone back on the stand and left the stage without making a scene. Some applause followed him, but if Shilo was being honest, he was a pretty far off his game tonight. It had to be the shots he’d been knocking back.

Once Drakken had disappeared, angel boy excused himself, eager to jump up and hurry across the restaurant to have a little chat with a young friend who seemed to be in charge of karaoke tonight.

Shilo jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder, whipping her head one way and then the other to face Drakken as he leaned down on her other side. “How’s the, uh, heh. Date? Going?” he chuckled, speech slurred and broken, leaning heavily against the table on one elbow. He pointed to her unfinished plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

She snatched the chicken strip he was eyeballing and stuffed it in his mouth. “Here. Choke on it, will you?” she hissed.

“Mmph—thank ya, ma’am.” He drug himself away from her, taking his musky tobacco and alcohol scents with him. “He ain’t got nothin’ on me, you know. You really should bail while you have the chance.” He gave an awkward wink that looked more like he was trying to blink an eyelash out of his eye.

She’d love to punch him, or at least shove his face away. She had to squeeze her untrustworthy hands between her knees instead. “Drakken—”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry I don’t have earplugs for you.” He tossed the last bite of chicken in his mouth as he backed away and saluted her. “I’m out.”

“Good,” she spat after him. He’d embarrassed her enough. She didn’t need him going the extra mile to tempt her fire to the surface. She glared as he disappeared through the restaurant, and cast a nervous glance across toward Tom, who was still unaware “ the freak” had been all but draped over her seconds ago.

She shouldn’t have taken Drakken’s warning with a grain of salt. She should have questioned her decision to stay when Thomas had been boasting about being a soprano. The notes he hit could have hurt dog ears, and like his jokes, his number was poorly executed. The deity worship she could take, but if he sang any louder, glasses would be the next thing to start cracking, after his voice.

She had half a mind to dine and dash. She even grabbed her purse off the floor from between her ankles and began looking for an escape route. But Tom was right above her, watching her with a gaze more unnerving than Drakken’s, and sneaking out was sure to ruin any hope of a second date.

As she suffered through the insufferable performance, she weighed how badly she needed a straight-laced young man any father would approve of. Not that she needed her father’s approval. What she needed was for her brothers to turn a blind eye to Drakken and assume him gone from the picture.

“Do it for Drakken,” she mouthed to herself dryly as Thomas Thompson finished his indiscernible gospel spiel and received undue applause. She glanced toward the exit Drakken had departed from. She wished she could walk out that easy. He didn’t seem happy with her arrangement with Tom tonight, but big deal. He had nothing to worry about, as far as being shown up went. And it wasn’t just for his sake anyway. She was scoping out valuables. She closed her eyes and tried to replace the aquamarine eyes seared into her brain with a wealth of gems in any color but blue.

She’d endured the heat boiling below the surface this long. When Thomas kindly covered the bill and brought up movie tickets again, she smiled and nodded. A movie. How bad could that be?

As soon as he surmised it, she realized she didn’t want to find out. She would have expected some romantic comedy with religious undertones from the young man walking her out of Westinger Grill, but a sci-fi shouldn’t have been surprising either. Something about it twisted in her stomach though. Aliens and space travel didn’t set great with her on a regular day – not since Lady Fate anyway – but the description the overeager boy beside her gave sounded right up Drakken’s alley.

Leaving the juniper-lined walkway, she caught sight of the brown station wagon still sitting off in the dark parking lot, a window now down despite the chill, and a wispy cloud rising from it drawing her eye like a smoke signal.

“Actually, I should really head home,” she said suddenly, interrupting the boy she’d tuned out several seconds ago. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tom uttered, stopping to stare at her. “I can give you a ride—?”

“Um. No thanks.” She tucked her hands behind her back and backed away quickly. “You’ll be late for that movie. It sounds like you’ve been looking forward to it for a while, so. I’d hate to make you miss it.”

Perched on his little white moped, Thomas scuffed his sneaker on the blacktop. “Can I get your number?” he inquired hopefully.

Her gut twisted. No, she wanted to say. She’d really rather not hand that out. Yet somehow, “You got a pen?” made it out of her mouth instead. His crystal eyes lit up, and he patted himself down to find a ballpoint in one of his pockets. How convenient.

She didn’t expect it to be handed to her. Her mouth was cotton, and her hands were instantly hot enough she could feel the plastic start to squish between her fingers. To make matters worse, Thomas offered his palm, utterly oblivious to the alien fire building beneath her skin. Her stomach lurched as she reached out with trembling fingers to hold his hand steady and scrawl the string of numbers across his palm.

“I can give you mine?” he offered when she passed the pen back.

“Not a good idea,” she blurted, wringing her hands behind her again and taking a quick step back once more. She didn’t need Drakken finding it that much easier, for one. Second, she didn’t need to burn ink into her skin for a temporary tattoo. She’d done that before by mistake.

“Okay…see you around, Shilo,” said Tom, offering her a warm smile. “Maybe next time I’ll get you up there with the mic. Or bowling. Or whatever.” He shrugged awkwardly and smiled again. “We’ll figure something out. Is next Friday good for—?”

“Can’t,” she said shortly. She combed her fingers through the ponytail flopped over her shoulder. “I mean I have – uhm. I’m busy Friday.” She didn’t know what she’d be busy with, but she’d figure something out.

She breathed easy again when Thomas Thompson gave an awkward goodbye and rode off. She hadn’t been keen to climb onto the back of a puttering moped anyway, let alone hold onto him. Not yet anyway. “Dodged that bullet,” she muttered to herself, relieved for now. She wondered if she could keep up the charade though. She’d probably have to ride the stupid little thing eventually, even if she couldn’t say she was eager to see the angel boy again. “Do it for Drakken,” she repeated silently to herself like a mantra as she retreated.

A weirdly off-tune and sluggish wolf-whistle acted as a summons, though not one she particularly appreciated.

With Tom out of sight, she was safe to storm up to the station wagon. Slumped behind the wheel in the dark was Drakken, a cigarette between his lips, cherry burning bright like a beacon.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed at him, leaning in through the window. Her eyes darted down to the fidgeting in his lap, and she would have reeled if freezing weren’t her second instinct.

Drakken held the revolver he’d pulled on her weeks ago in Go City. He was idly popping out the cylinder, giving it a spin, and popping it back in. The chambers were empty. He seemed disappointed by that. She relaxed a little and held out her hand. He sighed and surrendered the firearm.

“Doc—”

“Don’t worry about it,” grumbled Drakken, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. “I’ll feel better after…I dunno. It’ll pass.” He shrugged miserably.

“You’re sure this isn’t about Tom?” she pressed skeptically. She really hoped not. If it was – he was being a huge baby for no reason. She’d have to address it eventually, but preferably not right now when she was at risk of burning up.

Drakken snorted. “That’s his name?”

“You’re one to talk, Drew,” she retorted.

He gave a withering sigh and answered her question, admitting, “Not at all, but it doesn’t help.”

“Then what is it?” Shego groused and plucked the half-spent cigarette from his lips to flick it out on the wet pavement and take a drag herself.

Drakken pouted at her, but shook his head and crossed his arms. “Let’s just say, my mother is not happy with me,” he grumbled.

“Your mama?” She was surprised until she recalled last night and the invitation to a family reunion for Thanksgiving from his mother. “What’s wrong. Is she disowning you?” Maybe she came off just a little too cold because the frightened look the glum man shot her burrowed through her skin to make her wince a little and regret the remark. Bitter resent for her own deadbeat mother was no reason to wish anyone else to be on bad terms with theirs.

“Don’t even kid like that!” Drakken blurted, looking on the verge of tears. “That’s – that’s – that’s evil, Shego. Low blow.” He pawed his eyes, and she passed the smoke back. Maybe he needed it more than her.

She tossed the revolver into the back and opened the door. “Move over, baby. I’m driving.”

“No,” he grunted, too stubborn to move his butt. “You don’t even know how to drive stick.”

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. He had a point.

“Shego, please, there’s a restroom inside,” grumbled the man. Now wasn’t the best time for witticism, but the miserable man got a giggle out of his own immature quip nonetheless. She’d heard enough bad jokes tonight, but kept her complaint on his bathroom humor to herself and shoved him aside.

Shego climbed in, taking his warm place on the bench behind the wheel. “Guess it’s about time I learn, right?” she huffed. “Too drunk to mentor me?”

As she cast a glance across to him, he was already raising a bottle of something to his lips. She wondered if he’d stolen it from the bar. Thinking twice, he screwed the lid back down and lowered the bottle to the floorboard. “Uhm…”

“Of course you are,” she sighed.

Drakken objected to that statement and followed it up asking if she had a doggie bag. She sighed and forked it over, the boozy man happy to snack on greasy potato wedges and the remaining chicken strip.

Sitting quietly in the chill, she finished off his cigarette as he finished off her leftovers. Just as it had earlier, Drakken’s mood seemed to improve the longer she sat beside him, and he was humming almost happily as he licked his gloved fingers and finally wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Up for California?” he wondered, almost blithe.

Shego sighed. “With you drunk? Don’t think so. Besides, I’m tired. It’s been a crappy day. I wanna go veg out and crash, dude.”

“Can we at least push the car off a cliff first before you call it a night?”

Shego looked across at the hopeful blue man staring back at her. A small smile weaseled onto her lips, mirrored tenfold on his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[impossible-rat-babies]

Road Paths and Road Markers

post-heartbreak chargestep. just some stuff from the thought about what happens to sidesteps apartment + some other sad stuff.

2500 words, mostly under the cut

--

There are no roads paths with grief, no guidelines to tell how it’s supposed to go. Ortega wishes it were that way, it would make it easier. It would make the past...days? Weeks? He doesn't remember yet, still measuring the days by how empty they are and counting the numbers until the funeral. 

It felt rather like standing behind a glass window, watching the world move by in foggy shapes. He sees red everywhere, finding it in mundane places; a vibrant shock of hair or the way the light catches across a glass storefront before reality kicks back into gear and he can’t breathe through his throat clenching with tears. A road path would make this far easier.

A road path would tell him how he’s supposed to feel climbing the stairs of a shitty apartment complex, the stairwell lit with harsh fluorescent lights. He wouldn’t have to stop halfway up, gripping the railing until his fingers were white, hearing the screams and watching Pollux tear himself past them, past and further up the stairs. Further and further, a painting, a balloon...

He hurriedly blinks and he breathes out and in, prying his hand away from the railing. The worst is further ahead; the worst is always further ahead.

Ortega picks the newest additions to his keyring and one needs a jiggle to fit into the deadbolt properly. A move he’s done dozens of times, watched Pollux do it hundreds of times. He picks up the next key and the doorknob is second; he always teased Pollux about his level of security, of anonymity, but now it was another little quirk he misses far too much.

The door clicks open and he pauses, closing his eyes for just a second. A second to breathe, to gather himself back up again, look for the road map that isn’t there.

No next of kin to be found, so the affairs were left to the Rangers. But, personal belongings weren’t paperwork, weren’t under bureaucracy, so Ortega had taken a deep breath and volunteered to take care of Pollux’s apartment. It wasn’t like he owned much at all, but other heaviness, other weight, made every inch of his trek painful. Memories were far from worth their weight and they dragged him down deeper and deeper.

Ortega takes another deep breath and he twists the knob, stepping inside.

Death has a way of throwing everything into upheaval, scattering it all to dust and ashes, but leaves bits and pieces untouched. It lets them lie because they hurt worse when they are left perfectly alone—a perfect snapshot of right before the end, a painful reminder of every single what if, every single thing that could have been done differently.

The apartment paints a perfect picture of Pollux and Ortega silently shuts the door behind him.

The air is still soaked with the smell of bread and lavender; his apartment small enough that the smell soaked into everything, clothes, hair and skin alike. His feet carry him to the small galley kitchen, hand flicking the light switch. It flickers, but the yellowed glow fills the tiny room. 

They spent dozens of hours in his tiny kitchen, Ortega watching Pollux’s hands work flour and yeast to bread, the same worn out jazz music playing on repeat in the background, neither of them caring that it’s the exact same songs over and over again. The meals cooked on the shitty stove, the number of times they caught things on fire. It almost makes Ortega laugh until he remembers how the room is empty and the smell is old, the music silent.

He hopes for a moment that Pollux will walk out of his tiny bathroom, or somehow be hiding in a kitchen cabinet, squished himself into it because he was small enough to do it. Or he’ll crawl out from under his messy sheets, the bed sprinkled with a king sized quilt found discarded at a thrift store. Or he’ll be sitting on his secondhand couch covered in a California King sheet to hide where the springs will poke if you don’t sit on it just right, the faintest crooked smile on his face.

Of course he doesn’t walk out, his apartment cold and empty just like how he’ll be in a few days when they put him in the ground. This place is less like a memorial and more like a coffin, trapping all of who Pollux is--was--inside.

Ortega flicks off the light, burying the kitchen in darkness. He finds his way to the windows, pulling up the blinds, the rear end of a building and an alleyway below the spectacular view.

He looks down at the collection of potted plants still lining the large window sill, pots carefully balanced. Their leaves are still green, still vibrant with life even though they don’t know their caretaker is gone. They don’t know any better, don’t know anywhere better. Still, he makes a note in his head to gather them up and pack them into his car to take them home; it’ll be work to keep them all alive when he has no idea about houseplants, but it’s...it’s something. Something he doesn’t understand.

He takes a deep breath and it’s just the first step.

—

Days later and the apartment in a mess of boxes and cleaning supplies and Ortega sits in the middle of it, taking a long deep breath. It’s easier to climb the stairs, easier to hold back the memories, remind himself that they are only that. It feels nasty to banish the thoughts to the back of his mind, like if he puts them there, he’ll forget about them. But he reminds himself that he won’t forget about it--won’t forget about Pollux. How could he forget? He can't forget the person he loves.

He looks over to the desk and he removed the posters from around it yesterday along with the other meager trappings around. He carefully folded the nonbinary flag, the colors sun stained but still purple, yellow, black and white. Another thing to keep, to take back to his apartment. The plants found their home on his bookcase at home and he’s slowly learning each one of them. the drive back to his apartment didn’t kill them, thankfully.

He’s avoided the computer, the possibility of frying it very high, but even without that misgiving it still feels intrusive and wrong to go digging around in it,  but Pollux is no longer around to tell him no.

His computer screen is dark and he shakes the mouse and the computer purrs to life, the screen slowly coming up to that faded blue. The user comes up—Zachary—an alias Pollux used more often than not. He clicks the user and surprisingly no password comes up, no prompt. Ortega figures no one would go digging in his computer, or that he didn’t keep anything of worth on it. He never trusted that things could truly be off the grid in Los Diablos.

The desktop background is a plain rolling hill of green, likely the same since he first got the computer. Just like every bit of Pollux, the anonymity was his saving grace—even in his personal life. It still feels like a violation as he pulls up the menu, looking over his files; maybe he’d appear behind him, call him an idiot for looking at things he shouldn't be. Wouldn’t be the first time.

All of his files are generic, most of the empty on further inspection. A pretense, an illusion at normalcy; Pollux was never shy about how empty his life was outside of the Rangers. Something Ortega pitied once upon a time. He sighs and clicks on yet another folder--videos--expecting what he’s found each and every time: emptiness. But he finds another folder, this one much less generic, much more personalized.

“Ortega, 2013.”

This year, this year; maybe not too long ago. He clicks and the folder and....it’s filled to the brim of photographs, snapshots of the both of them. All across Los Diablos, all from their various adventures across the city whether on a late night bar crawl to times when they just wanted a friend to get lost with. Pollux loved getting lost in the city, finding the places where nobody knew who they were or where they were going. They were just faces passing in the crowd. Ortega never quite understood the quiet need for privacy and anonymity that Pollux always insisted on, but being lost in a place where no one knew who he was....he understood then.

He scrolls to the bottom and back up to the top before he clicks on a random photograph. He recognizes it, just like if he looked at all the others he would know them too.

Taken in Hoots, a selfie when they both had one drink too many. The lights are neon and the room is dark, but it’s not hard to catch their faces in the harsh glow of the camera’s flash. Both smiling, eyes bright even though he remembers how his retinas burned and how Pollux had complained that he had turned on the flash on purpose. But in that captured moment Pollux looked cheerful, smiling in that way that filled his eyes, not the ones when he gave him to make him happy, to get him off of his back for a little while longer.

Ortega sighs heavily and he rubs his chin, clicking to the next photograph. Hoots again, this time both of them sticking their tongues out at each other. The next one is him ruffling his hair, and Pollux's hands are a blur, but it isn’t hard to see how he’s trying to push his hand away. He pauses at the next one, his arm wrapped around Pollux, faces inches apart.

Another one of those almost situations, the brief seconds where one more step forward was all it took. Three words he had held onto for far too long, never saying them, afraid. What was he afraid of? Undoubtedly something silly that didn't really matter now. Death puts too much of the world into perspective, drags up all the things he should have said--things he needed to say, but he’ll never get the chance to say them.

He clicks on the next one it’s not a photo, but a video. He takes a deep breath and clicks on it despite how his stomach rolls, the scene vastly different from the photographs. The light is that warm color right before sunset, trees above scattering the light across well loved sidewalks. Memorial park, no doubt. A frequent place for the two of them to go on long walks. 

Pollux’s back is to him, walking with his arms outstretched along the narrow concrete wall protecting the hedges. It wouldn’t be the first time he took a tumble into those hedges, but he keeps his balance, swaying with each step. Even outside of his uniform, there’s a grace in his gait, lightly stepping from one foot to the next, staying on his toes. He isn’t...

Wasn’t Sidestep for nothing

“Pollux!” 

The camera turns and Ortega’s breath catches as Pollux spins around, lips curling into a smile, brow arching behind his sunglasses, continuing along the concrete wall.

“What’s up Ricky boy?” 

The smile even reaches his voice and Ortega sits back in the creaky office chair, a deep breath rising in and out of his chest, hands clasping tight. He remembers this now, remembers the night. Not long after another successful mission and Pollux had asked him on another walk. Nothing special, nothing different save for the lightness in his step, the smile that had appeared more than once--Ortega had been keeping count--and the way he had even hummed once or twice. La Vie En Rose, if he was placing the trumpet line correctly. Nothing short of unusual to say the least.

“I have a question for you.” 

Pollux stopped walking along, waiting for Ortega to get close. Even in the vague lighting from the video, he sees the freckles across his cheeks, the moles that trace a triangle across his face, the gap in his front teeth as he smiles. How he pushes his sunglasses back up, but still grins.

“Asking is free.”

His voice is soft and he knows the camera is on--he asked him later if he had recorded that and there wasn’t much use in not telling the truth. He hadn’t minded, just nodded and kept on with it. He never said if it really bothered him and it was just like Pollux to get the truth of the matter when he was no longer around to lie.

“Are you happy? Here and now?”

Pollux pauses, brow almost crinkling--eyes looking away--like he’s going to think too hard about it. Ortega knows that look and even now his breath catches hard and sharp in his lungs. He’ll joke, deflect, keep his feelings to himself...lie about it like he always did. Ortega knows how this goes and his hand covers his mouth, biting his lip hard.

The crinkle fades to a crinkle around his mouth and he nods, slow and steady. His smile is shy, but it’s still there. Really and genuinely there

“Yeah....yeah, I’m happy. I’m happy here and now, Ricardo.”

The video sharply cuts off, the still on Pollux’s face shining happily in the warm light of the sunset. He wanted to know if it wasn't just a fluke, that the happy look on his face wasn’t just for his sake, but that he was actually happy. Pollux didn't talk about where he had come from, but Ortega knew it was nothing good; no one wants to forget where they came from unless it wasn’t good. He spent years hoping that he would find a place with them--find a home in the Rangers. See them as people to like, friends to have, people who cared about him.

He gingerly reaches out towards the screen, thumb tracing the curve of Pollux’s smile. The screen is warm, but it doesn’t feel like skin. Doesn’t feel like that night, how he walked him home after a walk, a soft kiss between them that neither of them knew what it meant. There would be no more walks after that, no more gentle times spent together. 

Five days after that and it was racing up apartment stairs, frantically backtracking at the flurry of gunshots. Breaking into the room, Pollux silhouetted against a balloon, gun cocked and raised to his lips. 

Glass shattering, racing to the window. Can’t grab him in time, can’t reach him--the sickening sound of flesh meeting the concrete and anguish tears from his throat.

The image blurs with tears and Ortega crumples in, tears running through his fingers pressed over his face. His shoulders shake and he crumples in on himself, the apartment dead quiet as he cries. There’s nothing pretty about it--it’s all raw, it’s all pain.

There are no road maps to grief, no trails to follow. No long walks in parks where everything is tied up nicely with a bow, where he can look back at the quiet memories and feel contented about what happened, how it was supposed to go this way. It wasn't and all Ortega can see are the countless mistakes--everyday finding newer and more frightening ones to add to the list. No way out, no way forward; no road map to trace, to find his way out.

[sml8180]

Ego Christmas - Day 25 - Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everyone! And a happy fourth day of Hanukkah to any Jewish followers who might be reading this! This post was scheduled ahead of time, so that I couldn’t forget to put this up. I hope that everyone is having a great day!

Merry Christmas

Breakfast ran long, it always did on the holidays, but that was fine, nobody had to go anywhere, anyways. After everything was cleaned up, the Egos all moved into the living area, where gifts were all set under the tree as the lights twinkled.

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round!” Wilford called out. “Everyone in a circle, you guys know how this works, by now.”

Everyone worked to arrange the sofas and armchairs into a circle, moving the coffee table out of the way to make more room. As they all settled down, with Dark, Wilford, and the twins closest to the tree, everything began. They started with the stockings, which hung up on the fireplace and on the wall surrounding it. Each one was simple, a red stocking with a white cuff, with the name of an Ego stitched in shimmering red thread. The stockings were filled with different candies, and a handful of small gifts that would likely keep each of their interest as the gifts under the tree were given to the correct Ego.

Dark, Wilford, and the Jims worked well together to get all the gifts out to the others, in a way they had clearly been perfecting over the years. Dark and Wilford would read the names on the gift tags, and each Jim was silently assigned to work with one of them to get the gift to the correct person. The twins clearly enjoyed the little job, each one wearing a red and green elf hat, while Wilford and Dark wore Santa hats - though Dark initially put on a grumpy facade, it didn’t last, and he was soon smiling with the others.

“Before we get too far into things,” Dark spoke up, calling all the Ego’s attention to himself. “We all need to take a moment to celebrate that this is the first of hopefully many Christmases with the newest members of this chaotic family of ours. Eric, Reynolds, Magnum, Yancy, and Illinois; I hope this ends up one of many holidays we all spend together.”

A chorus of agreement met the five Egos, making Eric blush and hide his face in Illinois’ shoulder, as Reynolds laughed a bit, patting the man’s back.

“Alright, well, go ahead, everyone,” Dark urged, chuckling as Wil kissed his cheek. “The gifts won’t open themselves.”

Bim was one of the first to open a gift, the one he’d gotten from King, tearing away the wrapping and opening up the box to reveal a glittery purple suit with black lapels, and a matching tie. He smiled brightly, hugging King tight and drawing a laugh from the man. King, meanwhile, opened his gift from Bim, ripping away the wrapping paper to reveal a somewhat cylindrical bundle. A check of the tag revealed that it was actually a couple’s sleeping bag, perfect to go on the bed in the tree house King had in the woods that surrounded the manor, for a little extra warmth.

Silver opened up his gift next, surprised to have gotten a gift from Ed of all people. The wrapping paper actually contained two items, one being a set of blackout curtains for Silver’s room, which lead to him looking to Ed for an explanation.

“You get home at weird times,” Ed reasoned. “Sometimes it’s only a couple hours until the sun’s up, and I know the light comes in your window pretty early. With any luck, these’ll help you actually get some sleep.”

“That’s, actually really thoughtful, Ed,” Silver replied with a smile. He then proceeded to open up the box that had been with the gift. The box contained some black and white fabric, and at first, the superhero was once again confused, until he started to pull whatever it was out of the box. “No, you didn’t…” he began, trailing off as he pulled out a mask that looked much like the one he wore on a regular basis, though it was clearly a bit nicer and had a cleaner design.

“You’ve had the same costume since you were created. It was time for an upgrade,” Ed told him. “Jackie helped with that one, y’know, with the design and all that, and Eric helped to actually make it, but the original idea was mine. I guess it’s kinda from all three of us.”

“I love it! And if Jackie was behind part of this, I know it’s gonna be good, and Eric, kid, you’ve fixed my suit so many times since you got here, I’ve lost count. You guys are great,” Silver beamed, hugging Eric and then, surprisingly, pulling Ed in for a quick hug.

Magnum opened his gift next, seeing that it came from Reynolds. The wrapping contained a box that had a kit to build a model ship in a bottle. Reynolds hadn’t been sure what the large man would like, but he felt that a model pirate ship to display in his room would be interesting, and he’d noticed how careful he was with smaller things, so it seemed right. The captain smiled brightly, pulling the construction worker into a big bear hug.

Reynolds opened his gift next, his face lighting up as he shifted the box and heard the telltale sound of Lego bricks shifting inside. He tore open the wrapping to reveal a large set that seemed unfamiliar to him, but familiar at the same time, seeing as the box had an image of the manor on it.

“What’s this? It’s not an official set, is it?” the construction worker questioned.

“It-it’s a custom set!” Eric told him. “Dark, Wil, Bing, and I all pitched in and-and had a set made from the manor’s floor plan! You’ve got a lot of great sets, and I remember you saying that the manor would make a fun one, e-especially if it was all different sections that you could put together. So, Dark and Wil found the plans, and Bing drew up the actual stuff and submitted it to one of Dark’s contacts who actually got it made. I did all the box art.”

“That’s so cool! You guys are amazing!” Reynolds exclaimed, hugging those responsible for the gift.

The Host was next to open up his gift. The package didn’t have any wrapping paper on it, but rather, it was in a simple unmarked box with a ribbon tied around it, and a tag written by hand and in Braille, indicating that it came from Dr. Iplier. He undid the ribbon and opened the box, forcing his Sight for a moment to find that the box contained some high quality parchment and a nice calligraphy set with a quill, a few different writing tips that could be put on it, and a few different colors of ink. Meanwhile, Dr. Iplier opened his gift from the Host, smiling and breaking out into a bit of a blush when he found a couple of travel mugs, one which looked like the TARDIS from Doctor Who, and one covered in the print of the exploding TARDIS piece.

Google and Bing opened each others gifts, next. Google lit up when he pulled out a new set of small tools to use for his glasses and other small projects, along with a white suit jacket that would fit him perfectly. Bing practically threw himself at Google when he unwrapped a set of three dot grid notebooks to use for whatever he might need, along with a pack of pens.

Illinois opened his gift up next, finding a new bag to use during his expeditions. Eric explained that he felt that he could use something other than the cross-body satchel he was using, especially since he’d reported that it sometimes got in the way while he was climbing.

Next up was Eric, who was careful with the small gift in his hands. He undid the wrapping, and opened up the hinged box, finding a silk scarf folded inside. Carefully, he pulled the scarf out, marveling at the soft material and the light blue, green, yellow and purple pattern. There was something else, though, something heavier wrapped up in the scarf. Unfolding the thin fabric, he gasped at what he found. There was a necklace inside, with a black cord that wrapped around the smooth heart-shaped stone. The cord was tied into a pair of sliding knots, which would allow Eric to adjust the length of the necklace easily. Eric was rendered speechless.

“I found the stone a while back on an expedition, and thought you’d like to have it,” Illinois explained, somewhat sheepishly. He chuckled as Eric hugged him tight, and pulled him into a kiss.

“It’s perfect,” Eric told him, a bright smile on his face as he pulled the necklace on over his head, fiddling with the stone.

Ed opened up his gift, smiling to find that Silver had given him a set of hooks he could put up on his wall to display his hats and lasso. It would really help with organization, no doubt; those things took up space in his closet, on his bookshelf, and on his dresser. The twins each opened up their gifts at the same time, finding that they had gotten one another updated equipment.

Wilford opened up his gift next, breaking into a bright smile when he found a picture frame with five different windows. Four had photos of Wil and Dark together, at various points of their relationship, with the fifth and largest photo being one from their wedding. The photo had been taken from the isle, getting Wilford, Dark, Bim, Host, and the pastor who oversaw things in the shot, along with the ornate flower arrangement and large tree under which they had wed. It was one of Wilford’s favorite photos from that day, and he hugged his husband tight, kissing him.

Dark was next, tearing away the wrapping paper and opening the box to find a display of the solar system with a small dial and read out on the base. When he opened it, the planets were all lined up, and Dark simply raised an eyebrow in question as he looked to his husband.

“Google helped me with this,” Wil began. “It’s got a few different dates; the day we met, our engagement, and our wedding day, and a few others, all on the dial, and a setting where it’ll just run in real time. The planets all move when you pick a setting, so they’ll be in their proper place for that time. If you pick our wedding day, the planets all go to where they were the day we said “I do”,” he stated.

The demon looked to Google, who nodded in response. He then turned the dial so that the date of their first meeting was on the display, and pressed the dial down until it clicked. His mouth fell open in awe as the little planets rotated under the glass dome, stopping when they reached their proper positions.

“Wil… I don’t know what to say…” he finally breathed, still in awe over the gift.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Wilford stated, kissing his husband once again. “Your reaction says enough.

Dark smiled, looking around for a moment before snapping his fingers, spotting that one Ego hadn’t opened a larger gift like all the others had, and didn’t even have one by him. “I almost forgot, give me a moment,” he stated, handing the gift he had in his lap over to Wilford before standing. The demon tore open the Void and stepped through, returning a moment later with a box wrapped in silver wrapping paper. “This one is yours, Yancy,” he specified, handing off the gift to the former inmate.

Yancy set the box in his lap, running his fingers over the shiny wrapping paper, before giving Dark a quick look. Upon Dark making a silent motion for him to simply go on and open his gift, the former inmate tore away the wrapping and opened the lid of the box. He pulled a black case out of the box, setting the wrapping aside so the case could sit on his lap. The man ran his fingers over the clasps of the case, before he flicked them open with a soft click. With a deep breath, he opened up the lid of the case, and let out a shocked gasp.

“A violin?” he questioned, wanting to confirm the sight through his surprise. “How did youse know that I…?”

“I made a couple of calls and found out. I have my ways,” Dark stated calmly.

Yancy gave a bit of a nod, pulling the instrument out of the case to get a better look. It was clearly old, but well made, with intricate details on the pegs and scroll. He was in silent awe of the gift, and a similar silence had fallen over the entire room. 

“Where did youse get this…? These ones ain’t cheap, and they ain’t easy to find, either.”

“It belonged to an old friend, originally,” Dark stated. “He passed some time ago, and left it to me. I can’t play, but when I learned that you’re musically inclined, I thought it would make a good gift for you. An instrument like that doesn’t deserve to sit and collect dust.” He wasn’t exactly lying, not in full, at least. He physically couldn’t play the violin anymore, thanks to the broken body he inhabited. It hadn’t belonged to a friend, though; the violin had belonged to Damien once upon a time. But, that time was long past.

“It’s amazing,” Yancy stated, carefully setting the violin back into the case. “Thank you, so much.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve gotten through everyone,” Wilford observed, looking over the room. “I think this was a great Christmas.”

“That it has been, Wil,” Dark confirmed, smiling.

Indeed, it had been a very merry Christmas, for everyone in the manor.

[architectuul]

Human Architecture Needs A Dissident Instinct

“In every civilized community, Architecture has always been the most powerful sociological, cultural and historical cohesive factor; Architecture is the indispensable amalgam of the common life of diverse human beings.”  Ljiljana Bakić

Pionir Sports Hall in Belgrade. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Ljubica Slavković and Iva Čukić planned this interview questioning the meaning of the exhibition Toward a Concrete Utopia: Architecture in Yugoslavia, 1948–1980 in MoMA.  The talk with Dragoljub Bakić presents a story of love, devotion and architecture of the inseparable Yugoslav architectural tandem Dragoljub and Ljiljana Bakić. 

Dragoljub Bakić, Ljubica Slavković and Iva Čukić in a garden in the Višnjička Banja neighborhood in Belgrade.

HOUSING SETTLEMENTS 

Before meeting Dragoljub we have passed through the settlement that the couple designed. After reaching the beautiful house in a row with a garden and a view over the Danube river, we were completely blinded of all this beauty.

DB: It is interesting how there is now a curiosity in what we did in the era of socialism. This discovery started with Rem Koolhaas, who saw what Energoprojekt built in Lagos, Nigeria. During the time of socialist Yugoslavia, we did not have an Iron Curtain like the other Eastern European countries. What is obvious is that we had other types of restrictions that did not allow to be discovered what was happening here. We were signed off as an eastern block, at least as far as the West was concerned. 

Our architecture developed through cooperation with each other and also under the Balkan Association of Architects. Good architecture was made here. I think that we developed a great part of the Modern and Post-Modern architecture.

Plan for the residential area Višnjička Banja. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

During the period of Yugoslavia, a lot of apartments were built; housing construction was higher than it was in the West. Especially, because we had a political project with the idea of the right to an apartment. It was under a certain level of control with specific criteria and sizes of flats. In the socialist system the needs of people were somehow equalized. Both a faculty professor and a worker received the same square footage, although the first one needed a library and the other a big kitchen, but it was all averaged.

Višnjička Banja housing in the 1980s. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

When the time for designing Višnjička Banja came, the residential area where we have lived for the past 35 years, we had very strict conditions. However, we were protected by the General Plan of Belgrade (GUP) from 1972. Urban laws were well respected in the time of socialism and could not be changed as today how any one likes. Nobody respects anything today. Višnjička Banja was supposed to be another Dedinje, a fine living area where Belgrade will give vent to large conglomerates such as New Belgrade. The predicted density was 90 inhabitants per hectare. Such density created a garden settlement and the plan foresaw individual houses and villas in set in greenery.

Housing in greenery at Višnjička Banja. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

But still, besides the individual houses, the settlement has also multi-dwelling units?

DB: The changes that followed and the transition to socially oriented housing construction led to designing for the housing needs of the workers from different companies in the municipality. We proposed a system of low-rise houses to preserve the natural environment and take advantage of the space. Instead of making a multistory building we laid the building down. We argued for more square meters than planned, because it only made sense with the proposed density, and we designed the apartments with the impression of individual houses. They all have terraces with a view of the Danube and open spaces next to the kitchen. We were thrilled when we first came here as everything was completely bare; nobody wanted to build because of the exposition to the Košava wind. Today the location is completely different as pine and cedar trees planted by residents thrive well. I planted the pine tree next to you 35 years ago and there was another one, which I had to cut because it was too close to the house. These pines and cedar trees have completely changed the microclimate, and Košava now skips the site.

The whole settlement of Višnjička Banja looks out to the Danube, instead of facing the sun and south creating transversal cross ventilation and visions in all apartments. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

You have lived here since the construction period and the moving into the settlement. How have things changed here over the past 35 years?

DB:  The settlement consists of buildings in a row, high buildings with apartments for workers of the company, and houses in rows that were on the market through one of the then five large-scale housing cooperatives. A very interesting social layer has moved in here - at least 15 architects from Energoprojekt, directors, actors, writers, chess players. We hung out together back then as we still do today. We gather almost every week, for a hot brandy at my place, or we meet at his house, her yard, we live together in the settlement. We believe that this way of living has contributed to bringing people closer. The neighborhood relations were developed because of the low density of the urbanism. We consciously designed them in the form of a horseshoe, so each building has its own yard, a sloping terrain with children’s playgrounds or benches. Where neighbors can meet, now I can see that someone has planted some flowers.  

In Višnjička Banja’s neighborhood a Scandinavian architectural atmosphere was implemented. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

The neighborhood spirit has been developed. The measure of success for an architect is the measure of client and investor satisfaction, and in general, that is the essence of our call. In these 35 years 50% of the population structure has changed, many have died; a lot of families sold their houses and left because of the war at the beginning of the 1990s. Initially, there were no fences here but people began to encircle their houses because of pets. The new tenants are not interested in socializing, or even greeting. Our new neighbor has put up a metal fence and grids on all his windows. You’ll see this on many homes. An interesting sociological phenomenon is going on and it also speaks about the sociological structure of society; what we have become, who we are, and against whom we fight.

Architects have social coordinates, and the society and its development determine the coordinates in which you create as an architect. But also, as an architect, you create a society. And that is not easy. You said that at the time of designing Višnjička Banja, you were protected by the GUP, but the execution and settling in the early 80’s were significantly hampered. Why?

DB: What we went through with the Višnjička Banja project. We moved into the house in 1983-84. When those in positions of power realized what was built here, they accused us of destroying the socialist morality. All audits passed here, we got all the permits, but as architects, we were branded.  It turned out that Višnjička Banja became a new Dedinje, a fancy living area, but there were no people in position here. Only us citizens. And our keys were confiscated, it was a big affair. When the settlement was built and we moved in, we become victims of a great affair, to the extent that we were expelled from Energoprojekt.

The project of Višnjička Banja was accepted by the city and municipal authorities and was known as quality living made with cheap but quality brick and tiles produced by Energorpojekt. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

At the beginning of the 1980s, Energoprojekt pulled all its forces towards a huge project in Iraq. Only the guards were left here, and construction completely stopped even though people had already paid their homes in advance. Years passed, things changed, the dollar and dinars ratio changed, the money was gone, but the houses were unfinished. At that time, we were working on a project in Harare. When we finished our project in Harare, we were invited to return to Belgrade. The contractors asked us then to increase the square footage in the whole settlement so the people who had already paid for their houses would have to pay more. Of course, breaking the architectural ethics was not an option; we refused to do such a thing. All of a sudden, they declared us enemies to Energoprojekt. What we passed through was recorded by a bunch of newspaper articles. Fortunately, there were also honest people, both among the judges and colleagues, so in October 1984 we returned back to the company.

But what happened with the tenants of Višnjička Banja and the demands to pay more money for the houses? How did people move in here?

DB: By June 1983, after Energoprojekt confiscated the keys and asked for large surcharges, the tenants made a decision. The first 110 of them made a line with their cars on the Slanački road in the early morning at 6am. They all burst into the village, broke doors, changed locks, and moved into their homes. They saved us our key, as we were in Harare at the time, and when we came, they gave it to us. Our door was the only one, which was not ruined. That’s how people moved in here.

And this is how the community spirit emerged even before settling in the area. I believe that is because all of your work is done with a strong sense of building a more humane society through, or with architecture.  

AGAINST CLICHES

All your creativity is permeated with a strong awareness of the ultimate user and the impact of architecture on the lives of people, as well as a struggle through architecture for a more humane society. That is what Mrs. Bakić perfectly illustrated in her book, “Anatomy of B & B Architecture”, while presenting your design principles.

DB: We always had a dissident instinct against every kind of dictatorship and ruling clichés and we were constantly struggling. In the Nova Galenika settlement, which we designed in 1976, we were first to introduce slanted roofing. We had big clashes, for example with the president of the Zemun municipality. We had to reiterate that this roof is cheaper than a flat slab, which at the time had to have 17 layers in order to not leak. And would always later crack and leak water. But we manage to do it even so that after Nova Galenika, a new regulation was made that flat roof terraces had to have slanted roofs.

Drawing for the Nova Galenika settlement (1976). | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

The basis of Nova Galenika was the natural asymmetric scattering of the solitaire in the vertical sense, connecting the solitaires with their horizontal openness into organic groups. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Your design principles and creative expression are highly inspired by the architecture of Scandinavia, by the relationship with nature, local materials and the quality of space. We see that in the settlement of Višnjička Banja, and in Galenika, but also through your entire relationship to space and materials.

DB: A great impact was the year 1970, which we spent in Finland, in Alvar Aalto’s Bureau. This was possible because of Energoprojekt. And it was a beautiful bureau in Helsinki. We showed them what we had done in Kuwait and they loved the slides and were interested in cooperation. 

Collective Housing in Kuwait (1966) by Ljiljana Bakić and the office Said Breik & Marwan Kalo. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

There, they lived in row houses, and we were so enthralled by this spirit that we disregarded the latitude and longitude, we wanted to pass something of this spirit in architecture to Belgrade. We were deeply convinced, almost obsessed, that the projected environment could raise the level of living awareness and change people’s habits. But it turned out that in addition to geography, a little spirit on this subject was also needed. Višnjička Banja has shown that it was the correct way of living, very human with the socialization of neighbors, but afterwards it did not cast roots. In a whole series that could have followed this, people began building huge weekend houses.

Why Aalto, how did you even reach Finland in the 60s of the last century from Belgrade?

DB: Because we had a great professor, the architect Nikola Dobrović. He used to put on a bow tie and a black suit when he was teaching about Wright. A great influence on us had also the Hansaviertel in Berlin, where the ruins after the bombing were cleaned and where Oscar Niemeyer, Alvar Aalto, top leading architects of that period were engaged. We studied this cases because we could learn from their housing construction.

Ljiljana and Dragoljub Bakić at the opening of the Pionir Sports Hall in Belgrade, 1973. | Photo via CAB

In Yugoslavia we stepped out of many frames, which was possible because of the Non-aligned Movement. In the world we were recognized and evaluated in such a way. At one point Energoprojekt worked in 45 countries and it was at the very top of the construction companies in the world. The West knew about Tito and knew us through Tito, but they did not know us through architecture.

One of your cult projects and facilities, at least in Belgrade's life, is the Pionir Sports Hall.

DB: The design and performance of the Pionir Sports Hall was very interesting. The mayor Branko Pešić was a boxer and he wanted to organize the European Boxing Championship of '73 in Belgrade. As Belgrade didn’t have a sports hall at that time the building began in that year. The 25 May Sports Center by Ivo Antić was built. While Antić’s parallel piped roof was constructed we designed and built the entire Pionir. In nine and a half months we did both the project and the construction, and we could not do it differently than to make it prefabricated. We had a group of genius construction engineers in Energoprojekt.

For the Pionir building 90% of the structure was done on the ground and then raised. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

A year before the championship, seven large construction companies were invited to present their conceptual design and construction cost. We had about seven days to come up with the project, cost and time of construction. But then, we were also 32 years old, youth-crazy and as we say, could do anything. Energoprojekt got the job, and we got going. It was done so quickly, and the hall became a cult place for Belgrade sports.

Floor plan for the Pionir Hall. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

The task was that the hall should also serve for hockey, which means a fence that in turn led to steeper seating. Much later, a separate Ice Hall was created, which we consider to be our best project. But Pionir’s stands remained unusually steep, which made it a true home for fans.  All of our clubs like to play there, the viewers, supporters, inspire them. They are their sixth player, with steep seating like that; they are almost with the players in the field! And those construction beams are five centimeters thick. The Energoprojekt’s construction engineer Vlada Vračarić was a total genius.

The Ice Hall. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Why do you consider the Ice Hall as your best project?

DB: First of all, we consider it to be best fitted in its surroundings. We took off one side of the seating stands because we came to the very street. We did not have room for a two-sided auditorium, and this one-sidedness gave it character. But that roof, that used to be blue, and the way it fit in the environment, that is our cult image.

The cult image of the Ice Hall. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

TEAM WORK, HOME AND ABROAD 

The Pionir Hall is Ljiljana’s and your first jointly done building, and many more followed.

DB: We have been working as a team for 40 years. We saw that in Finland - many teams had two or three members, and often there were teams of architects that were spouses. We met a lot of them, great Finland architects that were spouses who worked as teams. With time and experience, you start to think similarly, you begin to synchronize. Of course, you do not argue a lot. Well, we argued a lot, but I always gave in. We were lucky to work a lot abroad. There were a lot of projects that were not constructed, and that’s a shame.

Spouse’s sensitivity established over the years creates understanding of each other’s work. | Photo by Rade Kovač

If you seriously treat the importance of given conditions and conditionality, if you establish a certain level of ethics, of your calling, if you treat with equal importance both the outside and inside, and the facade is not the only importance to you, it was always important to us and what is inside and the relationship towards the surroundings, then it all becomes very natural. Some things you do not have to always start over, they are known. Ljiljana was a well-known mathematician at school, she easily drafted and did everything else, and so was I. But I think that the first violin was always Ljiljana.

We do have our own individual projects, we didn’t always work together. Then came the time when I had to deal more with organization, management, especially in Harare. Ljiljana was more burdened with designing, and me chasing after clients, getting payments, getting work.

You’ve done a lot of projects, but there are a lot of those who just stayed on paper. Which one do you particularly regret not being made?

DB: It would be a project in South Africa, for the central eight blocks in Cape Town. We consider it the most interesting of our projects. Of course, our best projects are our two daughters, but we are now talking within the framework of Energoprojekt. Cape Town is best known for its diamonds, so we designed eight huge city blocks symbolically as diamonds. It was a very interesting project, but in the end it all depends on who you have as an investor.

The model for the Cape Town project. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

It happened suddenly, a person from Cape Town appeared at Energoprojekt with a question: “I have a program, can you do a project?” The general director of Energoprojekt noticed his tattered sweater and repaired shoe, therefore he said that this guy might not be serious. I replied that we shall work on such an interesting program. It turned out that the director was right. Both project we created with Ljiljana were well accepted by the city administration and also presented via articles in the newspapers as a symbol of Cape Town, such as the Opera in Sydney.

Plans for the Cape Town project. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

However, in the early 1990s a change in power occurred in the South African Republic. It turned out that the person offering us work was a former mercenary who was killing black people. The project was stopped. However, I had hope that with Cape Town’s local administration we could continue the project in a different way but in the meantime we moved with Ljiljana to Zimbabwe to run the Energoprojekt burro there.

Never constructed eight city blocks in Cape Town, The Republic of South Africa (1993). | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

The former mercenary somehow found us in Zimbabwe as he found out that I have a connection with the main architect of the Cape Town municipality. He admitted to me that he killed people and that if I will make another trip to Cape Town for this project he would do the same to me. Ljiljana would not hear of us stopping to do it, she was so in love with this project, she accused me being a coward. In the end, we dropped that project and that left us with regret. Afterwards Cape Town started to develop as any other city. We consider this to be our biggest project that was not constructed.

ENERGOPROJEKT 

You have spent your lifetime in Energoprojekt, in Belgrade and around the world. How did it all begin?

DB: Energoprojekt took college students. Professor Boža Petrović suggested to Energoprojekt to hire me and Ljiljana. The famous Milica Šterić immediately accepted me as a man, but she did not want to hire women architects at all. It was in 1963 and I was 24 years old. I got then into Energoprojekt and stayed there until my retirement. A few years later, when we were supposed to work on a competition for a spa in Igalo, I proposed to Milica that Ljiljana join us. When she saw how Ljiljana thinks and works, she made an exception and employed a female architect.

Ljiljana Bakić at TIM 10 architecture and urbanism Energoprojekt. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Milica Šterić was extremely important for our architectural environment, as the director of Energoprojekt, as an architect, as an author. And she was progressive with her ideas. How come such attitude towards women?

DB: I don’t know why she only worked with men. She was a miracle of a woman, but something of that composition that was then in Energoprojekt irritated her, and she decided that she would no longer accept women. She changed her decision when she met Ljiljana, but she remained an exception. Though we had very many women technicians, who were very important to us in our work. We had top-notch technicians who you really only lead through the main idea, and they solve the rest. And back then, we drew every detail, gutters, and canopies.

Milica Šterić with her team at Energoprojekt. | Photo via Žene u arhitekturi

On the other hand, we can also say that Šterić played an enormous role in the development of our architectural profession, that is, the development of the author’s creativity and the quality that has arisen from it?

DB: Yes. At one point, Milica Šterić decided to withdraw from Energoprojekt, which was concerned more with energy, hydro power plants, dams, industries, heating plants, etc. When Milica formed a team with Zoran Bojović, Ljiljana and me in the early seventies, she decided to separate from Energoprojekt. We created a special design office, subdivided it into bureaus. Ljiljana and I were running a bureau of 7 in total, and we were called Atelier 5. Everyone had their own investors and salaries. We were particularly chasing business, acquiring investors, and it remained so till the end.

We are talking about the time of socialism, and you are talking about a market game and individuality. How’s that now?

DB: It was not customary for such a large social enterprise to individualize itself to that extent. Energoprojekt was special, it had 5,500 engineers and a workers’ council. Neither I nor Ljiljana were ever members of the party, and our whole life we did what we wanted, so nobody interfered with us. That is something that is not possible here today. 

All this was largely due to Milica Šterić. The freedom that we had, the great confidence that she had in us young people. She developed herself by spending a good period of time working with Jaap Bakema in the Netherlands. In our country, she was the first to make a bearing glass facade, which is no longer present, and it was done with the most common ethermitte in the parapet. Very simple and cheap. She received the 7th of July Award for that house. She was an extraordinary personality, infinitely unselfish, in love with architecture at the cost of her private life. And also a great partisan. She kept our backs, of course, but the party did not meddle in what should be professional - unlike today.

Milica Šterić (1984). | Photo from the SAS catalogue “Nagrada arhitekture Srbije”

Yes, Milica played a big part. But there was also a system; our possibilities were unbelievable in relation to yours. We lived completely in a different time, with other conditions, opportunities, and career developments. What is happening today is horrible.

It is very interesting that thanks to Milica within a huge social enterprise we could sign as authors. It could not happen everywhere. Energoprojekt nurtured it; we struggled to be able to sign as authors. In smaller offices the directors were always the signatories of the projects. It was only in Energoprojekt that the architects themselves were signed as authors and this was a great achievement that we had won.

Your careers started in Kuwait and ended in Zimbabwe?

DB: We were very young when we went to Kuwait. With 25 years old this was a good period in our lives. This was the only time when Ljiljana and I work separately; me in Energoprojekt’s office and Ljiljana in the private office of construction engineers Sait Breik and Marwan Kalo. In order to get employed there she needed a special permit from Energoprojekt because it was a competition firm. At that time Yugoslavia was an exemplary ordered country. Especially in Kuwait, Ljiljana did a lot of projects because their office was then one of the busiest.

They begged us to stay there, but loyalty to Energoprojekt and our professor who employed us there were greater. We returned in 1966, and on that occasion we visited in detail almost all the Arab countries. In my opinion, study tours for architects have greater value than the study of architecture itself.

Headquarters of the Government of Zambia and the UNI Party1, Lusaka, Zambia, 1968-69. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Our daughter Olga was born in 1967 and Biljana one year later. For Ljiljana and me our family was a sanctuary above everything else, therefore Ljiljana cut her career and spent the next four years devoting her attention to the education of our children. This proved to be very good because they have become more successful than their parents. We are proud of them as well as of our wonderful and serious sons in laws, Radovan and David. Our five grandchildren - Katarina (16), Julia (13), Jan Gabriel (12), Luk Daniel (10) and Klara Rose (8) are a real miracle. They live in New York and Warsaw, and they are growing so far away from us that with the years passing, it’s getting harder to meet them.

You were going back and forth, Yugoslavia, Middle East, Africa?

DB: We lived in Zimbabwe on two occasions in 1982/83 and in 1994/2001. During our first stay, we worked on the Congress Center with the Sheraton Hotel, which we received through an international competition. The project was published in detail in Anthony Krafft’s edition “The Contemporary Architecture of the World - 1987/88” in Lausanne, Switzerland.

Sheraton Harare Hotel is located next to the International Conference Centre in the capital city of Zimbabwe. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

During the second stay in Harare, we managed two Energoprojekt design offices Desicon and Bakić Architects. The second one was registered in our names because we had to get a RIBA license, but in practice we gave it to Energoprojekt. Bakić Architects has done and implemented dozens of projects mainly working for various ministries of the Government of Zimbabwe, and has received high recognition from the United Nations, which included it in its special list of 20 designer boutiques firms (up to 50 employees) around the world.

Headquarters of the Government of Zambia (model). | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

Out of our 40 years of intense architectural practice, we worked more than 10 years abroad. We worked very hard as very often we brought our work home from the office and continued solving the architecture. We’ve been in such a way for nearly 60 years.

THE ANATOMY OF LIFE

You participated in many World Congresses of the International Architects Union - UIA, which has its headquarters in Paris. Which one do you particularly emphasize?

DB: Those encounters with numerous architects from all over the world meant a lot to us. UIA congresses became very popular and gathered thousands of architects. The ones in Madrid in 1975 and in Montreal in 1990 were special. Particularly important for us was the one held in Chicago in 1993, where Ljiljana had her report especially praised by the President of the UIA - Greek architect Vasilis Zgutas, as well as the one held in Barcelona in 1996, when our Olga had her report immediately after the completed master’s study at Cornell University in America.

Dragoljub and Ljiljana with their daughters Biljana and Olga. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

In Chicago, we officially represented our country’s delegation to the Congress, and it was only Ljiljana, because they did not allow me to enter the United States because of the international sanctions. However, I had a decent substitute, because our younger daughter Biljana accompanied her. She had already settled in America that year and started her trip towards a triple magistrate and graduation at Harvard.

In Barcelona, we were again official representatives as the delegation of Zimbabwe and as Vasilis Zgutas commented - that we are indestructible - we lose one country and we quickly find another one. Barcelona was and is now a soft spot for architects. It is one of the most successfully urbanized cities of the world, especially architecturally enriched after 1992 when the Olympic Games were held there.

What else did you do besides the architectural practice and design?

DB: Our profession has a lot of charms. It is welcome in many human activities in the field of culture, but also in real life as well. It directly affects the lives of people and makes them richer and more beautiful, and people are often are not aware of it. The greater the awareness about architecture itself, the more the business is respected in society.  And vice versa.

Unfortunately in the last 30 years, all human values have been turned upside down here, and our profession, like many others, passes heavy days at the very margin of society. We remember something different and we are happy to remember that.

Ljiljana’s book “Anatomy of B & B Architecture” was awarded Ranko Radović Award (2012) in Serbia for the critical theoretical texts on architecture.

Ljiljana was the one who always wrote well, so she continued writing alongside her architectural practice, which is not often the case with architects. She seriously dealt with the philosophy of architecture, the theory of architecture and architectural criticism, and was very appreciated especially by the professional public. She has written dozens of texts, not just about architecture and urbanism, but also about the socio-political, sociological, and cultural environment in which we lived and worked. Many are represented in the book published in 2012 Anatomy of B & B Architecture.

Together we were also very active when it came to exhibitions of architecture and design. I was more active in the Association of the architects of Yugoslavia and Serbia, where I was the president of the Court of Honor for 20 years. We were very much concerned with the profession and it would happen that we deny membership in our Association to those who break the Moral Code of our architectural practice.

What the city administrations has in the meantime made of Belgrade, especially with the wild construction and investor urbanism, it would be difficult to qualify it today even for some Rural Sports Games.

You have received a lot of professional acknowledgments and rewards during your working life. Which ones are especially important for you?

DB: What I consider to be the biggest prize is the acknowledgment Ljiljana received in 2016, when selected to be among the 100 best and most important architects and designers of Europe for the period from 1918 to 2018. The MoMoWo- Modern Movement Women project is dedicated to the accomplishments of architects and designers throughout Europe and the year 1973 was dedicated to Ljiljana for the project of the Pionir Sports Hall.

What are you doing today?

DB: Both Ljiljana and I have entered our 80th year of life. Ljiljana continues to extensively write, this time her second book based on extensive journals that she diligently led during all of our turbulent and transitional years. We, who were born in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, have changed five countries. From a large, populous and coastal country we learned to love, we now have a small continental one that continues to dwindle with both territory and population and for which we still do not know the boundaries and which we still cannot manage to make it resemble a real and normal state.

Again, according to the principle I have been holding on to for a long time - Carpe diem - I am trying to make, in a creative way, various things and entertainment in our yard for the short time during the summer when our grandchildren visit us. I work a lot in the garden, which I find inspiring and on a hill, from which the view of the Danube is beautiful. We are only five kilometers from the city center and yet we live in complete nature with a multitude of birds and animals.

Ljiljana and Dragoljub Bakič at the MoMoWo exhibition in Belgrade (2018). | Photo by Rade Kovač 

As Ljiljana continues to deal only with her writing, I had to take over the kitchen and in the everyday cooking I discover great creative possibilities and in time it has also become a hobby.

You are still very strong and active in the public sphere, and persistent in fighting for the future of Belgrade, and not only in terms of architecture.

DB: I am engaged with a bit of professional and civic activism, because I think that citizens should not hide their heads in the sand, but if they are educated then it is their duty to express their views when needed. I am trying to give my contribution to the fight against the uncaring and the unqualified city government that demonstrates its power by deploying real Urbicid in the systematic and daily destruction of the country’s Capitol. Unfortunately, they are successful because our profession, preoccupied by bare survival, absolutely provides no resistance.

Do you think that there is something that should be explicitly explained which might then be the conclusion for this story?

DB: It bothers me that as the prevailing impression remains that thousands of flowers flourished in all those past times. And that was not the case at all. This, our very own Orwell, which we experienced in 1984, was made by powerful local politicians within one of the only existing political parties, to hide and draw away public attention from the just discovered  malpractices’ of private purchases of  apartments in downtown.  In this, they were ardently supported by a group of our colleagues from Energoprojekt, a group of unappreciated architects, who were blinded by great envy. They could not forgive me and Ljiljana for the huge success we achieved with the project of the Congress Center in Zimbabwe and the very fact that we personally brought this business to Energoprojekt.

Male and female architects at work in the Department of Architecture and Urbanism at the headquarters of a major construction firm Energoprojekt in Belgrade. | Photo Courtesy Energoprojekt Archive

The whole world was opening for us. Suddenly, we stood out. We had to be cut. And that’s what happened. We were stopped in our 45th years of life, at the very peak of our careers when we were able to give the most.

All this happened in the second half of the 1980s, in the era of social ownership and the rule of a political party. Today there is private property, bared liberal capitalism and again the rule of one political party. Everything could be reasoned with if there were real institutions and the rule of law. In our 80 years of life, we have not managed to experience this wonder which is called the Rule of Law.

In those 80 years a lot has changed, but even with Yugoslavia – we cannot speak of it as a uniform entity, neither in time nor in space.

DB: Of course, in the era of socialism there were great differences, compare let’s say Serbia and Slovenia. For example, we could not even dream of having private offices, nor did any architect dream of having a private house. It would be normal for you as an architect to first try your experience on your own home - why not buy it and do it. I would say that as a condition: first you have to make a project for your house, and then for others. This was massive in Slovenia, for us, all that time they were the complete West. Slovenian architects really started with their homes, there was no architect there who did not designed his own house.

But then, in the end, you live in the house you have designed!

DB: Of course, that was one of our tricks.

Dragoljub Bakić at his home. | Courtesy of Dragoljub Bakić

---

With Dragoljub Bakić were talking Ljubica Slavković and Iva Čukić

[dawnjeman]

New Year, New Beautiful Homes of Instagram

  Hello, my wonderful friends! How are you in 2019? Did anything happen? Did a switch turn on, bringing more Light into your heart during this first week of this New Year? It’s been terribly cold, gloomy and dark out there. The weather is miserable and it’s easy to feel the winter blues insistently knocking on my door, but I am not opening it… instead, I decided to take a small break during the Holidays to do what I love the most in life; which is spending time with my family and work whenever I feel inspired. I took a small break and I am finally feeling like myself again… nothing makes you feel more centered than being able to slow down and hear your own thoughts, and that was exactly what I did.

During this New Year, I certainly hope to continue to listen to what’s inside of my heart and that goes to what I want to share with you here on Home Bunch. I have to be completely honest with you guys. I am tired of cold homes, everything looks the same these days. Although I will always bring the latest trends to my readers, one of my main goals this year is to share homes that feel more like real homes, homes that have character and feel loved, and that starts with this year’s first “Beautiful Homes of Instagram”. Please, get to know Erin from The Heart and Haven. She’s someone that will inspire you to transform your current home into your “home-sweet-home”!

  Hi, my name is Erin @theheartandhaven and I’m a home renovator, home décor enthusiast and mother. I have always enjoyed staring at all the pretty things, but I never realized how much joy I would find in creating them until my husband and I bought a 1950s fixer upper about five years ago.

My husband and I are high school sweethearts from the Jersey Shore. We dated long-distance throughout college and upon graduation, we decided to move across the country to start our life together in Los Angeles. I worked in television before deciding to become a stay at home mom when I had my first son. I now have two boys, ages 7 and 4.

After getting married, we purchased a newly-built, builder-grade condo in Los Angeles and while the finishes were not exactly my taste, I was excited to just have a place to call our own and honestly never thought about changing anything. Two years after having my son and really craving some private outdoor space to have him run around, we searched our neighborhood to find a house. We found a corner house only a few blocks away on a beautiful, wide tree-lined street. It was custom built in 1950, and nothing had been updated since then. The house was head- to-toe covered in orange wood (floors, ceilings, walls, you name it!). The bathrooms had parquet linoleum, the staircase had scrolling wrought iron and each room had ceiling fixtures hanging so low that it made the 8 ft. ceilings feel much smaller. Having no reno experience under my belt, I still felt that this 2400 sq. ft. house had potential. Thus began our renovation journey, and we lived through all of it! I don’t think I knew what my style was when we started renovating our home and decisions often had to be made quickly. There are some things I would change, but I have learned so much throughout this process. And five years later, I think I have found my casually modern, beachy-boho style through decorating it , and it has truly become a passion of mine.

  New Year, New Beautiful Homes of Instagram

Our kitchen was the last major renovation. After living in what felt like a wooden cave, I wanted our new kitchen to be light and bright. We took down the wall that separated the kitchen from our playroom to open it up. I had always wanted an island but, due to building codes, the island would have been very small. So, I adjusted my vision and was able to have the counter space and seating area by making it into a peninsula instead.

Peninsula measures 6 ft x 4.5 ft. and counters are Salt White Marble.

Paint Color: Valspar Mountain Mist.

Kettle: Crate & Barrel.

“Let’s Stay Home” sign: Here.

Runner & Flooring

This pink kitchen runner is one of the cheeriest pieces of home décor I own. I paired it with the wallpaper to make our kitchen more playful.  

Runner: Here.

Flooring: Wickham Hardwood, Maple (color Walnut) – similar here, here & here.

Cabinet Paint Color

Kitchen cabinets are Maple, painted Benjamin Moore White.

Canisters: West Elm.

Backsplash is Daltile Subway Tile, 3×6 in Arctic White – similar here.

Appliances: Thermador Range, GE Café Series Refrigerator.

Marble Clock: Sur la Table.

Cabinet Cup Pulls: Hickory Hardware.

Sink & Faucet

While it might not be the most picturesque faucet, I love how we can turn the faucet on and off without dripping on our marble counters.  Definitely a functional win! 

Kitchen Faucet: Faucet, Moen Motionsense Chrome.

Kitchen Sink: 33” Farmhouse Fireclay Sink.

Kitchen Towel: Kate Spade.

Lighting & Barstools

When choosing the pendants over our peninsula, I didn’t want to compete with the chandelier in the nook. These cone pendants with their antique brass interior echoed the glam of the chandelier without overwhelming the space.

Barstools: Serena & Lily.

Lighting: Visual Comfort – 15 Inch Wide.

Utensil Holder: West Elm.

Breakfast Nook

I loved the idea of a breakfast nook and wanted to make it feel special, so I went with wallpaper and a statement chandelier. I think the wallpaper adds so much personality to this otherwise all white kitchen. I then paired it with a more rustic feeling table and chairs to contrast the crisp, geometric design.

Table is RH – similar here, here, here, here & here.

Chairs are RH – similar here & here.

Pillows: here, here, here, here, here & here.

Chandelier & Wallpaper

Wallpaper is from Serena & Lily in Denim.

Chandelier is Visual Comfort.

Playroom

After taking down the wall between the kitchen and the playroom, this is now our view.  Since this is the room my sons hang out in the most, it had to be functional for them but also flow with our kitchen.  

Sofa is from HD Buttercup 

Window Treatment throughout home are plantation shutters by American Vision Windows 

Paint Color

The barstools had to become part of the design for the playroom because of the open concept, so going slightly more coastal in this room with the oversized beach print and using blue accents in the room helped tie things together. 

Paint color is Valspar Mountain Mist.

Inspired by this Look:

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Sofa

Some might think a white sofa and children do not go together. And they would be right! However, I love the crisp look of a white sofa so I chose a slipcover that can be removed and washed.

Sofa is from HD Buttercup.

Ottomans: Etsy.

Artwork: Minted.

Rug: Pottery Barn.

Mudcloth Pillow is by Bryar Wolf – similar here.

Playroom Media Center

Not fancy or even perfectly styled, but that is mom life! This media center holds all the extra toys and books and games.

TV: Samsung.

Gray bins are from IKEA – similar here.

Media Center: Pottery Barn.

Knobs: Restoration Hardware Dillon Knobs.

African Wall Baskets: Etsy.

Desk

Both the desk and window-seat are IKEA hacks.  I upgraded the desk by swapping out the hardware and I made the IKEA Kallax bookshelf-turned-window seat feel more custom by adding a bench cushion.

Rattan Mirror: Pottery Barn.

Vintage rug found on Etsy – similar here.

Window

Pillows and bench cushion by Tonic Living – Similar Bench: here (on sale!) & here.

Bins found at Target.

Living Room

Our sectional is actually a recliner and the chaise lifts up for hidden storage.  I love how functional it is for our family. 

While there is still updating to do to this room, we recently removed the metal stair railings and replaced it with a wooden banister.  Painting and staining the banister was a beast! But it was well worth it. 

Stair posts are Benjamin Moore Super White and stain was a custom mix. 

Artwork on wall by @sarahcnightingale.

Sofa: West Elm.

Paint Color

Wall paint color is Benjamin Moore London Fog.

Rug is discontinued – similar here.

Seagrass lidded basket: here – similar.

Fireplace

Choosing a split-faced stone for the fireplace is still one of my favorite design decisions. 

Stone: Wayfair.

Chair: West Elm.

Moroccan Leather Pouf: here.

Fireplace Sconces: Pottery Barn.

Shelves

Believe it or not, farmhouse style was my first love.

Shelves are IKEA and I spray painted the brackets Rustoleum Hammered Copper.

Grid Photo Frame: McGee.

Walnut Frame: McGee.

Brass Bells: McGee.

Rustic Vase: Here.

Artwork on top by @sarahcnightingale.

Others items mix of flea market and HomeGoods finds (including bottom baskets) – similar baskets: here.

Coffee Table

Coffee Table: here.

Coffee Table Decor: Wooden Bowl, similar moss, similar wooden beads & similar vintage bells.

Sofa Pillows: here, here, here & here.

Dining Room

I love earthy elements and this rustic dining table is the perfect combination of form and function. With all of its raw imperfections, the kids can be as rough as they want with it and I don’t mind.

Dining Table & Bench: West Elm.

Rug is vintage – similar here, here, here, here & here.

Wooden Candle holders are locally sourced.

Planter in corner is from HomeGoods – similar here & here.

Good Vibes

There is a casualness about my design style which is probably why I gravitate towards word art.  And I love the boldness of this black and white piece.

Artwork by JaxnBlvd.

Stool: Target.

Dining Room Chairs

The white wishbone chairs help to bring a lightness to this space which doesn’t get a lot of natural light and the chairs’ low profile makes this small dining space feel bigger. Paint Color is Benjamin Moore London Fog.

Chairs are by InMod – similar here, here & here.

Lighting: West Elm – similar here.

Mirror: here.

Floor basket: Pier 1.

Kids Corner

This was a fun IKEA hack that I did for my 7 year old’s room.  I took the IKEA Kallax shelf unit, chose two different color doors and then spray painted the letters. Wall color is Valspar Ghost Ship.

Pillows by Tonic Living – similar here.

Rug & Seagrass boxes from Homegoods  – similar rug & baskets.

Shelf and baskets from IKEA .

Reading Nook

These fern decals make this reading nook a lot of fun for my four-year-old.  And while I would have loved a hanging chair, I didn’t think it was practical for my boys so I opted for this caged freestanding chair instead. 

Decals by Urban Walls.

Chair: World Market.

Paper Mache Animal Heads: Fox, Rabbit & Deer.

Elephant Side Table: Serena & Lily.

Rug: here – similar.

Prints by Society6.

Guest Bedroom

Adding board and batten was a game changer in this room.  It instantly made the guest bedroom feel loftier than its standard 8 ft. ceiling height. 

Leather Bed: CB2.

Duvet Cover: here.

Nightstand: West Elm.

Throw: here, here & here.

Rug: here.

Paint Color

Paint color is Benjamin Moore Chantilly Lace.

Candle Holders: Crate & Barrel.

Pillows: Black & White & Bolster Pillow – similar.

Artwork: here.

Guest Bathroom

This small bathroom was the first major renovation we did when we moved in. There was literally a treasure chest inspired toilet box in here and, much like the rest of the house, tiles and walls were orange-brown. Having no prior design experience, I went with timeless marble and this little bathroom still makes me happy.

Bathroom wall paint is Behr Sterling.

Vanity: Wayfair.

Faucet is Kohler Bancroft.

Mirror: Uttermost.

Hand Towel: McGee.

Wood pot from HomeGoods.

Floor Tile: Wayfair.

Master Bathroom

This is our only bathroom upstairs, so it was important for us to keep a separate tub for our kids.  Paint color is Behr Light French Gray.

Paint Cabinet Color: Benjamin Moore Simply White.

Tile is Ceramiche Caesar Porcelain Tile in MORE Manhattan – similar here.

Rug is from HomeGoods – similar here & here.

Vanity: Pottery Barn.

Art Print from Serena & Lily.

Crytal knob by Emtek.

Tub: Wayfair.

Stool: Serena & Lily.

Master Bedroom

I love having a neutral bedroom that I can easily switch up by swapping out pillows and throws.

Bed: Wayfair.

Blue quilt from HomeGoods.

Throw: Etsy – similar here.

Full Length Mirror: here – similar.

Rug: Lulu & Georgia.

Textures

Bench from RJ Imports – similar here.

Duvet Cover: Anthropologie.

Wall Basket: here – similar.

Pillows: Velvet Pillows, Mudcloth Pillows, Lumbar – similar.

Stripe vase from Crate & Barrel.

Faux Stems: Crate & Barrel.

Nightstands from Crate & Barrel discontinued but similar ones here, here, here & here.

Paint Color

Paint color is Chantilly Lace by Benjamin Moore.

One of my favorite things about this house is the amount of closet space.  Our master has a his and hers closet.  The smaller one behind that door is the his, of course.  

Ladder is from Crate & Barrel.

DIY

The wall art here was an easy DIY.  I put mudcloth scraps in black frames to give this corner a boho chic look. 

Chair from HD Buttercup – other beautiful chairs: here, here, here & here.

Side table: here. 

Bench: here.

Dresser: Pottery Barn.

Desk

Desk from Restoration Hardware – other beautiful desks: here & here.

Chair is from IKEA – similar here.

Pillow: Serena & Lily.

Hanging planter is from Homegoods – similar here.

Baskets: Serena & Lily.

Rug is from Homegoods – similar here, here, here, here & here.

  Many thanks to Erin for sharing all of the details above.

Make sure to follow Erin on Instagram to see more of her beautiful home!

  Amazing End-of-Season Sales!

Thank you for shopping through Home Bunch. I would be happy to assist you if you have any questions or are looking for something in particular. Feel free to contact me and always make sure to check dimensions before ordering. Happy shopping!

  Serena & Lily: Tent Sale Up to 70% off! – Enjoy an Extra 20% OFF. Use Code HOORAY

  Wayfair: UP to 75% OFF – Huge Sales on Decor, Furniture & Rugs!!!

  Joss & Main: Best Prices of 2018 – Up to 70% Off

  Pottery Barn: Buy More, Save More – 20% Off Sidewide + Free shipping: use Code: HELLO19 

  One Kings Lane: Final Days to Save: Take an Extra 20% Off Markdowns with Code OKL20MORE.

  West Elm: Big New Year Sale: 20% Off Your Entire Purchase! Use Code: NEWYEAR

  Pier 1: Huge Sales – Up to 60% Off!

  Anthropologie: Winter Tag Sale: All sales at an extra 40% Off! Amazing!

  Posts of the Week:

2019 New Year Home Tour.

Family-friendly Home Design.

Christmas Inspiration.

Interior Design Ideas.

Small Lot Modern Farmhouse.

Transitional Home Design.

Newlyweds Home Design.

Family Home Renovation with Casual Interiors.

2018 Norton Children’s Hospital Raffle Home.

Beautiful Homes of Instagram: California Beach House.

Neutral Home Interior Ideas.

You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch

See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives.

“Dear God,

If I am wrong, right me. If I am lost, guide me. If I start to give-up, keep me going.

Lead me in Light and Love”.

Have a wonderful day, my friends and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

with Love,

Luciane from HomeBunch.com

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[abbsterocity]

Mastering Square Format Instant Photography

All squares are rectangles but not every rectangle is a square! Read on for some tips for mastering your composition in the elusive 1x1 aspect ratio.

First thing’s first: The following tips are meant to guide you towards expertly composing your shots into a square frame. They’re not meant to be rigid rules, but you should master them in order to break them and make them your own! Most importantly, these tips are meant to help you make the most of those 8 little frames you have in your instant film cartridge. Putting careful thought into what’s in your photograph will make every frame a worthwhile, intentional photograph.

Tip Number One: Familiarize Yourself with the Rule of Thirds

The rule of thirds is a great way to balance your square photos and create interest to draw your viewer’s eye to the subject of your photo.

To achieve this, look through the viewfinder of your camera and imagine that you are looking through a grid made up of 2 vertical lines and two horizontal line splitting up the scene in thirds. Try lining up your subject along one of the dividing lines OR at any of the four intersecting points.

In the photo to the left, the horizon stops right about the bottom third of the photo. And the top of the Sears Tower (or Willis Tower, as it has come to be renamed) hits right at the top third of the photo. Although the Sears Tower isn’t lined up with one of the vertical lines, the photo still creates some interest by drawing your eye upward in the photo.

How to Break The Rule of Thirds

Once you have mastered the rule of thirds, it’s time to throw it out the window. It is certainly possible to achieve a great composition by filling the entire frame with your subject, squarely in the middle or not at all!

In this photo, the palm trees take up about half of the frame but is still visually pleasing.

Another example of breaking the rule of thirds: this pinata was shot right in the middle of the photo, and fills up most of the image (without being too close that it’s out of focus) and we can tell it’s the subject…and there’s a fiesta going on!

Tip Number Two: Change Your Perspective to Give Your Photos Depth

Depending on the instant camera you’re using, there are several things you can do to manipulate the perspective of your photo to draw the eye to —or away from— your subject. SX-70 and 680 Polaroid cameras are SLR cameras that allow you get close to your subject at a minimum of 10 inches and at large apertures (small f-number) in low light conditions. The result is a beautiful close up with your subject being in focus while the background is almost all blurred out and minimizes any distraction from your subject.

In this photo, the speaker and needle are in focus, so as to help us envision the spinning of the record and imagine music playing. The knobs were purposely left out of focus since reading their labels might distract us from the actual record being played.

Because most instant cameras have long focal lengths and a small aperture, achieving a shallow depth of field like this can be a little more challenging. Smaller apertures tend to keep everything in the frame in focus.

To combat this, you can manipulate the composition of your photo to create depth by changing your perspective, or the angle/viewpoint that you’re taking the photo.

In the photo above, instead of taking the photo of the surfboards head on, I stepped over a few steps to capture the ones in front of me as well as down the sidewalk to create a sense of distance and capture the feeling of being overwhelmed by so many surfboards!

The same can be said about this shot of some piano keys, only I crouched down to the level of the keys to elongate the length of the piano.

This isn’t really a rule, but more of a guide to add creativity to your shots. Try shooting the same subject but from different viewpoints, such as above your subject, below, up close and far away.

This shot of the Sears Tower is dramatically different from the first in this blog post because it was taken at a “worm’s eye view”, or a really low viewpoint looking upward. The sense of perspective creates a vanishing point making the top of the building almost invisible.

OR Show no Perspective At All!

Okay, that sounds wrong, but hear me out. In the context of photo composition, sometimes a flatlay or close up that fills the whole frame is just as interesting as a shot with a one point or two point perspective. You can play around with the positive space (your subject) and negative space (area surrounding your subject) of a photo to capture your subject in different contexts. Aiming for a minimalist aesthetic? Try shooting your subjects with more negative space creates an airy look. Want to get up close and personal? Try to fill the frame with your subject as much as you can! Check out these examples below for more inspiration:

Calder’s Flamingo, the subject, is engulfed by the buildings behind it, the negative space, creating an image that looks almost abstract due to the lack of depth in the photo.

The same can be said about this photo of a lamp against partially opened blinds. It’s hard to tell exactly what is the subject— the lamp or the blinds? That’s not necessarily a bad thing as it draws interest from the viewer. The flatness also lends itself to creating graphic shapes and lines that help make this seem more abstract than realistic.

In this photo, it the entirety of the frame was dedicated to this garden of exotic flowers at the Garfield Park Conservatory. And for good reason, too! When shooting this, I got as close as my lens’ focal distance allowed me to go and at the level of the flower bed to fill the frame up with these cool looking plants. Had I included a little bit of the pathway below or the wall above, it would have distracted the viewer’s eye from the plants.

Tip Number Three: Symmetry Keeps Everything Balanced

Just as in the real world, our eyes are naturally drawn to symmetry in art. We look for the line of symmetry to guide us through the photo. And when a photo is perfectly symmetrical, it gives us a sense of balance and is pleasing to look at.

Not much can be said about this photo, except that its mirrored lines pulls us in to the photo. It also helps that vanishing point is in the dead center of the photo, so once we’re pulled in, our eyes are left at the horizon.

BUT You Can Also Mix Things Up

Sure, symmetry is great and all, but when things fall out of line it turns into an interesting an unexpected shot! Shake things up by intentionally breaking the line of symmetry or include an off kilter subject to create an element of surprise to the photo.

This photo is a perfect example of imperfection: The book is slightly slanted to break the line of symmetry and there’s an added element on the left that is a base of a lamp. This look away from perfection and symmetry makes the scene look “lived in” and not staged.

Practice Makes Perfect…Style

Now’s your turn to take your working knowledge of your instant camera and these tips out into the world and practice composing! Your skills will progress and your photographic eye will develop as you slowly find your style. Once you’ve honed in on your photography style, breaking the rules is highly recommended!

So grab a camera and some film and start shooting today!

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 29: Trial By Fire, Pt 2

Mary paced a bit, as they waited in the lobby of the courtroom. None of them were very hungry, so they sat on the benches at the park nearby. David felt a bit helpless, since he knew there was only so much he could do to ease her nerves. He grabbed her hand and she looked at him.

"I'm sorry," she said. He smiled gently.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I just wish I could protect you from all this," he said.

"I know...but if I don't testify, Damon walks. And even if I do...he could still walk," she fretted.

"I know...I wish I could promise you that he'll pay for what he did. I hate that I can't," he said, as he gently pulled her toward him and then down into his lap.

"But I can promise that he will never hurt you...I'll do everything I can to make sure of it," he promised. She smiled.

"I know you will, my love," she replied, as she kissed him tenderly.

"I wish you didn't have to testify and relive that night," he said.

"Me either...but I can do this, because I know you're there," she said confidently. He smiled.

"That's another thing I can promise. Us...we're going to be together, no matter what. We're going to get married and be a family forever," he said, as he laced his fingers with hers and then kissed her again, this time in long, passion filled pecks to her lips. She kept her eyes closed and she relished being close to him, as he pressed his forehead against hers. And they stayed that way for several moments, until it was time to go back to the courthouse.

Regina glared at them from the window of her office, which had a perfect view of the park. Her hatred for them burned inside her just as passionately as ever.

Too many things had changed and even the bright spot that these two idiots could lose the trial wasn't enough to put her at ease.

First, that woman, Stephanie Kore, had come to town and practically taken Mary Margaret under her protective wing for reasons Regina wasn't able to discern. She had Sidney dig up all the records on this Ms. Kore that could be found. What he had found has been perfectly ordinary and well ordered records, professionally anyway. All the necessary credentials were in place. A teaching degree and a PHD in Botany, both from prestigious schools in Boston. But her personal life was generic. Her records provided vague information, like that she was born and raised in upstate New York, before moving to Boston for college. She never married, had no children, and seemingly kept to herself, despite being supposedly gifted in her field. And Regina was convinced it was all fake. She just needed to figure out how to get that information.

Then there was the new stranger that had rode into town on a motorcycle. She knew even less about this August W. Booth and that irked her to no end. Sidney's research on him had turned up even less. A sealed juvenile record, no documentation that he had ever graduated from any school, and no IRS records of him...which was just bizarre. Someone who was off the grid was a dangerous thing. Even the people of Storybrooke all had IRS records. When the curse had dropped them in this land, it had seamlessly inserted their curse identities into the records systems. For all intents and purposes, if a government agency happened to look at records for someone in Storybrooke, those records would always appear legitimate and in order; a perk of the curse being so intricate and efficient, on the surface anyway. If someone were to ever look closer at Storybrooke from outside, oddities would appear. But Regina was not too concerned. For twenty-eight years, they weren't given any thought, much like any other small, unassuming town. But these strangers did concern her, as did all the changes.

Her intense glower on her step-daughter and her idiot Prince didn't dissipate, as she watched them kiss.

When David had proposed to her a week ago, in front of all, she had been enraged. No matter what she did, it seemed that separating them was impossible. Even her plot to give Belle false memories had backfired on her, for Gold seemed just fine with having Lacey on his arm as he did Belle. Lacey seemed drawn to the darkness in Gold as well, which she had not anticipated. Jefferson seemed a bit more sane too, as it seemed having people in his life kept his demons at bay and Henry continued to pull away. Despite these other interlopers, it all stemmed back to Emma Swan.

If Damon was acquitted, that would be a blow to the two idiots and she could assuredly find new ways to torture the others. A few ideas about that sprang into her mind and she smirked deviously, as she looked back across the street. And she caught sight of something red. Taking out a pair binoculars, she looked through them and spotted Stephanie, several feet away, talking to a woman with red hair. Regina gasped, as she suddenly recognized her.

"The mermaid...what the hell is she doing here?" she growled.

"How the hell did she get here?" Regina wondered, as she knew the mermaid didn't get swept up by the curse, nor did she come over the town line, which meant it was probably by sea and would have required magic of some kind. And she was deep in conversation with Stephanie Kore. Perhaps there was a way to find out the truth about Ms. Kore, after all. Regina smirked and picked up the phone.

"I have a job for you," she said, once the person on the other end answered.

"So...things are good?" Stephanie asked. Ariel smiled.

"They are. This land is strange, but the filing job in the cannery office is fairly simple. And I get to be close to Eric. Thank you again for convincing the manager to give me the job," Ariel replied. Stephanie smiled.

"You're very welcome, Adrianna Brooke," Stephanie replied, using the curse name she had come up with for the redhead. Ariel smiled and saw Snow in the near distance.

"It must be so hard for you...that Snow doesn't know," Ariel mentioned.

"It is, but I'm hoping being friends first will help her accept me. The curse will not last forever and she'll remember. So will Eric," she assured. Ariel nodded.

"I can't wait...especially for Regina to pay for all she's done to everyone," the former mermaid replied.

"Regina has already lost a lot of ground. Anything she does now just delays the inevitable. Emma will break the curse," Stephanie promised, as she checked the time.

"I have to go. Take care," she said.

"You too," Ariel replied, as she started back for the cannery.

As she rounded the corner, someone grabbed her from behind and put a cloth over the redhead's mouth, forcing her to breathe in the chloroform. She collapsed and was dragged away to a van nearby.

Court resumed and the judge was seated again.

"Mr. Gold...you may call your next witness," the judge stated.

"Thank you, Your Honor. The prosecution calls Mary Margaret Blanchard to the stand," he stated, as the raven haired beauty stood up. David squeezed her hand and she approached the bench where the Bailiff swore her in. Mr. Gold approached and rested his weight on his cane.

"Miss Blanchard...we have heard about the events of that night from Mr. Nolan. Is it true that Mr. Tromera came to the Toll Bridge that night?" Gold asked.

"Yes," Mary answered.

"Was Mr. Tromera armed?" Gold asked.

"He had a shiny metal device on his hand. I was later told that they were brass knuckles," Mary stated. Gold held up an evidence bag.

"Are these what Mr. Tromera was wearing on his knuckles that night?" Gold questioned. Mary looked at them and shuddered slightly, as they were still stained red. Red that she knew was David's blood.

"Yes," Mary answered. Let the court reflect that Ms. Blanchard has identified this weapon as one Mr. Tromera was sporting on his knuckles on the night in question," Gold said.

"So recorded," the judge agreed.

"Now, Miss Blanchard, tell the court in your own words about the events of that night," he requested. She took a deep breath and flashed back to that frightening night.

"Mary...run…" he pleaded. But instead, she spied a large stick and picked it up. David's head swam in pain after another punch and Damon backed away. He turned his attention toward Mary Margaret and was beamed across the face with a stick. He growled in pain and held his face, as she scrambled to help David to his feet.

"Mary...you need to run! I'll just slow you down," he groaned.

"David...I am not leaving you behind," she repeated, as they trudged through the muddy forest. It was dark now and rain was coming down in sheets. They could barely see anything and she yelped when David cried out, as Damon hit him from behind.

"No!" she cried, as they went rolling to the ground. David saw black spots in his vision, as Damon buried a fist in his gut, knocking the wind out of him. But he fought the urge to pass out, as the monster stalked toward Mary and shoved her against a tree. She sobbed, as he put his large hand around her slender neck and forced her to look at him.

"So fair...even soaking wet in this rain. I can't wait to finally have you," he hissed, as he used his free hand to fumble with the rope in his bag. Mary growled and kneed him between his legs. He groaned and she tried to push him away, but he pinned her with his weight.

"You'll learn you place, Mary. I'm going to teach you," he growled.

"Did you enjoy my handiwork at your lovely little garden today?" he questioned.

"It was you," she uttered. He smirked.

"Yes...but that was your blood. I swiped a bag of it from the hospital. And you know when I was smattering those stupid little flowers you love with it, I had this insatiable urge to taste your blood. So I did...and I found it to be the sweetest nectar I've ever tasted. It left me wanting more," he whispered in her ear and her skin crawled at the feeling of his hot breath on her neck.

"You're sick..." she spat. He chuckled at that.

"Yes...I suppose I am," he replied.

Mary was practically shaking when she finished recalling the memory.

"So...he admitted to vandalizing your flowers earlier that day, using a bag of your own donated blood, which he stole?" Gold questioned.

"Yes," she answered.

"Objection...this is hearsay, Your Honor," Mitchell interjected.

"No, Your Honor...Sheriff Swan recovered a security tape of Mr. Tromera visiting the hospital wing where the donated blood is kept," Gold argued.

"Which is circumstantial at best. I have viewed this tape and Mr. Tromera did visit that room, but there was no indication he took anything," Mitchell protested.

"Your Honor, a lab test done later on the flowers confirmed that it was Miss Blanchard's blood and the discarded bag was found at the scene," Gold countered.

"Which does not definitively prove that my client did it," Mitchell objected.

"He is correct, Mr. Gold," the judge agreed.

"Your Honor, he admitted it," Gold stated.

"So says Miss Blanchard. It's hearsay," Mitchell countered.

"Mr. Herman is correct. The jury will disregard this," the judge ordered. But the jury had still heard the disturbing account and Gold hoped it stuck with them.

"Miss Blanchard...please tell us what happened once you and David reached the cabin," Gold requested. Mary nodded and continued recalling the events that night.

For Mary, she didn't remember a time seeing him like this before and this man terrified her to her core in a way she was sure nothing ever would. She didn't have to wonder about the things he wanted to do. She was extremely clear on everything he had planned for them. She feared for them both; for the horror that awaited her at his hands, but she feared for her beloved more. This monster had every intention of murdering the man she loved and she was beside herself with so many emotions that it nearly made her faint. But she kept her feet rooted to the ground and her grip on David, for she feared him disappearing if she let go even just a little.

Her heart hammered in her chest, as the malicious man limped inside and her head hurt in a way that couldn't just be a headache. It was more like someone was screaming at her inside her subconscious to do something, to protect her love; to fight for him. How she was supposed to do that against this animal of a man, she did not know, but she found her eyes searching for anything that could be a weapon.

David gripped the poker and raised it before them.

"Do yourself a favor and step aside and maybe you'll live to see another day," Damon threatened.

"Like hell I will. If you think I'll let you hurt Mary, then you have another thing coming," David threatened back.

"Mary...unless you'd like to have his blood on your hands, then you should save yourself that pain and come with me," Damon said.

"She's not going anywhere with you," David growled. He smirked and made a show of his considerable strength by breaking a wooden chair over his knee so he could use one of the legs as a weapon. Mary yelped when he did, never imagining someone could have such strength. It was almost inhuman. As David circled the monster before them, Mary noticed a sculpture on the mantel. It was a wooden likeness of a spinning wheel and she picked it up, ready to spring in at the right moment to use it.

David swiped the poker at the other man, but he dodged and made his own strike, narrowly missing David's head. The monster of a man brought the wooden stake down on him again and David blocked in a high arc with his weapon. But Damon kneed him in the stomach and hit him on the back of the neck. Mary cried out, as he went down and their tormentor hovered over him with a devious smile.

"You should turn away, Mary. This is going to get messy," he hissed, but felt excruciating pain, as she hit him in the head with a blunt object. He held his head and fell to his knees. How it didn't drop him completely, Mary didn't know.

"That was a very big mistake, Mary," he growled, but they didn't waste any time and she helped David up, as they started toward the door. But Damon reached out and grabbed her leg, tripping her. David shoved him away and tried to go to her, but Damon hammered his fist into David's gut, tossing him away again. Mary watched the monster fearfully, as he lit the chair leg on fire and then tossed it onto the rug nearby, quickly igniting it.

"What are you doing?!" Mary cried.

"Making sure lover boy can't escape this time," he growled, as he grabbed her arm. She dug her heels and tried to stall him.

"That's it...you've left him no choice. I didn't want to do this, Mary, but you will be taught your place," he screamed at her, before angrily backhanding her. She fell to the floor in a painful daze and David saw red like he never had before.

"You must have been terrified," Gold stated.

"I was...I thought he was going to kill David," Mary answered.

"But you were also scared for yourself. What did you fear from him, Miss Blanchard?" Gold questioned. She swallowed thickly and Damon's eyes were shooting through her.

"He said he was going to take me back to his club against my will," Mary revealed.

"And did he tell you what he was going to do to you?" Gold asked. She took a sharp breath.

"He said he couldn't wait to have me and that I would be taught my place," she stated.

"Have you," Gold repeated.

"I know this is difficult, Miss Blanchard, but what do you think he meant by that?" Gold asked. Mary closed her eyes and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mr. Gold graciously offered her a tissue.

"I think he meant to...rape me," she uttered in a trembling voice, causing rumblings through the court room

"Objection!" Mitchell protested and the judge slammed the gavel down.

"Order," he demanded.

"Your Honor, the witness is speculating!" Mitchell cried.

"The witness is recounting the events and how she felt," Gold argued.

"Sustained. I have to agree with Mr. Herman. The jury will disregard Miss Blanchard's speculative statement," the judge ordered.

"The court may negate your speculation, but it does not change the things you felt that night and how that fear was caused by Mr. Tromera, is that right, Miss Blanchard?" Gold asked.

"Objection!" Mitchell exclaimed.

"Withdrawn...no further questions," Gold replied, as he took his seat.

"Your witness, Mr. Herman," the judge stated, as Mr. Herman approached the witness stand.

"Miss Blanchard...how long have you volunteered at the hospital?" he asked. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"For many years...I guess I'm not exactly sure how many," she replied.

"Many...many years, ladies and gentlemen," he stated.

"Objection...I fail to see what relevance any of his has, Your Honor," Gold protested.

"Sustained. Mr. Herman...where are you going with this?" the judge questioned.

"Oh, I have a point, Your Honor," he assured.

"Then make it," the judge said shortly.

"You happily participated in the volunteer program, a program which Mr. Tromera funds, yet how many times did you reject him?" Mitchell asked.

"Objection...Miss Blanchard's love life has no bearing on this case," Gold protested.

"Overruled, but tread lightly, Mr. Herman," the judge warned.

"Mr. Tromera asked you out numerous times, but you rejected him each time, didn't you?" Mitchell asked.

"Yes...I wasn't interested in him and did not appreciate his continued advances," Mary replied.

"Or perhaps you enjoyed stringing the poor man along," Mitchell countered.

"Objection!" Gold hissed.

"Withdrawn," Mitchell said quickly.

"How many times did Mr. Nolan ask you out before you agreed to a date?" Mitchell questioned.

"I said yes the first time," Mary replied confidently.

"Then perhaps you can understand how Mr. Tromera might have felt. After all, a person can only take so much cruel rejection," Mitchell hissed.

"Objection! The witness is not on trial, nor is she responsible for Mr. Tromera's hurt feelings," Gold growled.

"Sustained. You are out of line, Mr. Herman," the judge admonished.

"I apologize, your Honor," Mitchell stated, as he picked up an evidence bag.

"Do you recognize this object?" he asked.

"It's a stick," Mary answered.

"Yes, this is the stick you used to bludgeon Mr. Tromera on the night in question...isn't it?" Mitchell asked.

"He was attacking David!" Mary exclaimed.

"Your Honor, please advise the witness to answer with a yes or no," Mitchell said.

"He's correct, Miss Blanchard. Please provide a yes or no answer," the judge advised.

"Yes," Mary answered through clenched teeth.

"You claim that it was self defense, but perhaps you saw an opportunity to rid yourself of my client for good. After all, you yourself said you were tired of his constant advances," Mitchell stated.

"Objection!" Gold protested.

"Withdrawn...no further questions," Mitchell replied, as he returned to his seat.

"If there are no more witnesses, then we will hear closing arguments," the judge stated. Gold rose from his seat and approached the jury.

"You have heard clear testimony today about the events that took place on that stormy November night. Mr. Tromera sought out David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard. His plan required a tranquilizer dart to eliminate the obstacle of their dog, which most certainly suggests per-meditation on his part. He attacked them, chased them, and intended to harm them. They fought him in self defense for their lives, as any person would and there is little doubt that Mr. Tromera intended to kill Mr. Nolan and force himself on Miss Blanchard. He has stalked her for years, proving without a shadow of a doubt that he is a predator and should be locked up for what he did. As conscious citizens, who care about your fellow townspeople, I know you'll make the right decision," Gold stated, as he took his seat and Mitchell approached.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the question is not did Mr. Tromera act rashly and inappropriately on the night in question...because he did," Mitchell began.

"But the question is...does he deserve to go to prison for it? And the answer is unequivocally no. Years of rejection has taken a heavy toll on my client. And the events of that night were escalated by Mr. Nolan's hot temper and Miss Blanchard's continued rebuking. They want him to go to prison. But my client needs counseling instead. So don't deny him that, because he is a generous and valued member of this community. Make the right decision and acquit. Sentence him to counseling and community service if you must. But not prison. Thank you," Mitchell stated.

"At this time, the jury will be sequestered until which time they reach a verdict. Until then, we are adjourned the judge ordered, as he slammed the gavel down.

David squeezed Mary's hand. All they could do now was hope...

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Cryptoland - ICO Landing Pages WordPress Theme

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Cryptoland - ICO Landing Pages WordPress Theme

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[hannahindie]

At the End of All Things: Chapter 3

Characters: Dean x Jo, Sam x Amelia, Bobby x Ellen, Kevin, Ash, Charlie (brief mention), Cas Word Count: 2,147 Warnings: None really, unless you count having to leave the Impala behind. A/N: This is an AU/Crossover between Supernatural and Walking Dead. I’ve brought some characters back from the dead since it is an AU, and it’s going to be chock full of ships. I’ve always wondered how the Winchesters would make it in a world full of walkers, and what Rick’s crew would think of them, so this is my take on it. If you would like to catch up on Chapter 1, you can do so here, and Chapter 2 is here!

My dear, sweet @trexrambling beta’d this for me: “Dean's reaction is my reaction.” (In case you were wondering, the reaction was confusion and speechlessness lol)

As always, tags are at the bottom, and if you would like to be added please let me know!

Dean gave one last long look at the Impala before sliding the garage door shut and locking it.

“You sure you want to leave Baby behind?” Dean turned to see Jo standing at the edge of the driveway, her hand resting gently on her stomach. He smiled at her, enthralled by the way the sun shone off of her hair.

“She’s too loud and heavy. If we had to off-road it, she’d never make it. It’s too dangerous.”

“For Baby or for us?” Jo asked, laughing.

Dean closed the space between them and pulled her into him as he kissed the top of her head, “Would you judge me if I said both?”

“Only a little. I won’t tell anyone.”

They turned and made their way towards the town center, their fingers laced loosely. Today was the day. The day they risked everything for the slim possibility of finding a cure. Dean had begun to have second thoughts, but when he had walked outside this morning and saw those that were leaving saying goodbye to those staying behind, their faces full of hope, he had realized it was for the best. It may have been a wild goose chase, but at least they were trying. None of them had survived this long to just not try. As Dean and Jo approached the makeshift town square, he saw Sam leaning over one of the tables as he studied a map.

“Sammy, everything ready to go?”

Sam nodded, “Yep. We’ve got the quietest cars gassed up and packed. Garth is checking a few last minute things so we can stay in touch with Kevin. I’m going to make one more perimeter sweep, make sure the fences are secure, and I think we’re pretty much ready to head out.”

Dean clapped Sam on the back, “Great, man, sounds good.” People were beginning to fill up the square, their voices low as they gathered to say their last minute goodbyes. Bobby and Ellen were slowly making their way towards them, and Dean watched as Bobby slung an arm around Ellen’s shoulder and pulled her closer. She laughed at whatever it was he whispered in her ear, and Dean wondered if they should stay behind. He would give anything to watch them live out their lives safe and sound, and this mission almost guaranteed that that wouldn’t happen. As they approached him, Bobby caught his eye and grinned. He’d never listen to Dean; the only man he’d ever known to be more hard headed than his real father was his adopted one.

“Well, son, it’s about time. You sure you wanna do this?”

Dean nodded, “Yea, I’m sure. You?”

Bobby shrugged, “About as sure as I’m gonna get.” He looked over the crowd that was gathering and grunted, “Wish they’d just let us sneak outta here, I ain’t good with goodbyes.”

Dean chuckled, “You and me both, old man. You and me both.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes at Dean, “Watch who you’re callin’ old, boy. I can still kick your damn ass.”

Dean threw his hands up as if surrendering, “I don’t doubt it.” He looked around and saw Sam off in the distance, checking the fences one last time. Amelia was alone off to the side, leaning against a tree. He caught her eye and she stared at him silently. He gave her a tight lipped smile, but instead of returning it, she pushed away from the tree and walked towards where Sam was looping back around. Dean looked at Ellen and she shrugged; none of them ever knew what Amelia was thinking, and though they all tried to include her, she did not make it easy.

“Heyo Deano, I got Kev all set up. That equipment is as tight as the mini skirt on a White Snake groupie.” Ash hopped up onto the picnic table, his feet on the bench, and leaned back as he looked at Dean.

Dean stared at Ash for a moment, unsure of how to respond, “Umm...thank you, Ash, for that colorful and...confusing description.”

“No problemo. I left some instructions for him in case something went wrong, but I don’t think he’ll have any problems. It’s on a backup battery in case the the power grid goes down, and I got ‘em set up with a generator that is just for emergencies, so, they ought to be square for awhile. Are we gettin’ this party started or what?”

“Yea, we’re just waiting on Sam to get back from his last perimeter sweep and it’ll be time to go, I think.” He watched Cas go down the line of women he was constantly surrounded by, giving each one of them a hug and a kiss, and Dean had to bite back a laugh. If anyone had told him that Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would be high as balls all the time and into...whatever it was you wanted to call what he was into, he would have laughed in their face. He sauntered over and stopped next to Dean, who raised his eyebrows at the former angel. “You good?”

“Oh, yea. I’m great.” He stretched, “I need a break, anyway. You know how tiring it is to make love to that many women every night?”

Jo glanced over at Dean, a smirk on her face, “Well, Dean? Do you?”

Dean shook his head, “This is a trap, isn’t it? It’s a trap. But no, Cas, I don’t know. I would guess that it’s probably a hard time.” Jo snorted at his perfectly timed pun, and Dean elbowed her gently in the arm. “Shut up. Sinner.”

The rest of their little community were making their way over to where the main group was as Sam and Amelia made their way back towards the picnic tables.

Bobby leaned in close to Dean and whispered, “They’re gonna expect a speech. Give ‘em what they want so we can get the hell out of here, huh?”

Dean inwardly groaned. He was not much of one to give a speech, but Bobby was right. As he looked out over the crowd, their eyes were all on him. He wasn’t sure if he could say they were filled with hope. He was sure that most of them realized this was probably a dead end endeavor, but what he saw was trust. It didn’t matter the outcome of this, in the end.  What mattered was that they trusted him, they trusted in their family, and that was enough to fully convince Dean that what they were doing was right. Sam slowed to a stop at the back of the group, Amelia attached firmly to his side, and nodded. It was time.

Dean took a deep breath, looked at Jo, then back out to the crowd standing in front of him, and began.

“As you all know, we are heading out today to follow a lead that Garth and Ash received about a cure. Now, I’ll be the first to tell you that I think it’s a slim chance...the world that we knew has been gone for a long time, and for someone to still be working on a cure...well...it’s unlikely. But I think we all also know that Dick Roman is a tenacious bastard, so if anyone survived the hellscape out there and is working on a way to flip the switch, it would be him.” A quiet wave of laughter swept through the crowd, and Dean felt Jo squeeze his hand in encouragement.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen out there. It’s dangerous, and we’ve got a hell of a road to travel to get to Roman’s lab, nevermind getting inside. We may not even find anything. But I can’t sit by, knowing that there’s even a slim chance, and not even try. Some of you I have known for a long time. Some of you I’ve just met. But as far as I’m concerned, every single one of you are a part of my family, and I will do anything I can to keep you safe. We will do anything.”

A cheer rose, and Dean felt a faint flush creep across his cheeks. Sam smiled gently at him and gave him another nod, prompting him to keep going.

“Thanks to Ash, we have a way to keep in touch with all of you, and I know that you are going keep our homes safe. We are leaving you behind so that our little community can thrive. Remember to help those that you might find, and to use your best judgements. Hopefully we won’t be gone long, and we’ll be back before you know it. Now, I’m going to quit yapping so that we can get moving. Thanks for everything you do, and we’ll see you soon.”

Everyone cheered again, then moved in to give those that were leaving one last goodbye.

Dean reached out and grabbed Kevin’s arm as he was passing, “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure thing, man, what’s up?”

Dean stared at Kevin for a moment, surprised by how grown up he looked compared to when they first met, and smiled at him. Kevin’s brows knitted in confusion, “Are you okay?”

Dean nodded, “Yea, I’m fine. Uh, listen, thanks for staying behind, taking care of everything. I know you didn’t ask for that when you tagged along with us.”

Kevin shrugged, “I’m used to saving your asses, so this is nothing.”

“Yea, yea yea…” Dean paused as he slipped his hand into his pocket, “I need you to do one more thing for me.”

“Sure thing, Dean, anything.” Dean removed his hand and slipped a cool, metal ring into Kevin’s hand. Kevin looked down with wide eyes as he took in the smooth silver key, then looked back up at Dean. “Are you sure?” It came out as a whisper.

“Yea. I can’t take her with us. She’s not built for travel like this, and I don’t want to lose the keys. I locked up the garage this morning, she should be fine...just...keep an eye out, alright? I don’t know what’s going to happen out there...and I need to make sure someone knows where she is and will appreciate her. It might be the end of the world, but my baby deserves more than just sitting somewhere, rusting. So...keep her safe.”

Kevin looked back down at the keys, then carefully tucked them into his pocket, “I know the perfect place for them. You better come home, though. I don’t know enough about cars, and I need someone to teach me.”

Dean gripped Kevin’s shoulder tightly, “I..uh...I’m proud of you, Kevin. You’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you, and...well, you’re a lot different than when we met. What I’m trying to say is...just take care of yourself, okay?” Kevin nodded, unsure of what else to say, and Dean pulled him in for a quick hug before clearing his throat and straightening his jacket. “Alright, well, enough of that. We’ll be back soon. Baby better be in one piece when we get back.”

He stomped off and Kevin’s hand wandered back down to his pocket, his fingers tracing the outline of the key ring through the worn denim of his jeans. The moment Dean had handed him the keys, Kevin realized just how serious this was, and he was terrified this was the last time he’d see any of them. He slowly walked the rest of the way to the town center to join the crowd that were migrating towards the gates.

By the time Dean made it to the front gate, everyone had loaded up in their respective cars but him. He climbed in next to Jo and looked through his open window to the small crowd of people standing by the open gate. Charlie stood next to Kevin, her bright red hair shining beautifully in the sun. She waved at him, and Dean threw his hand up in return. And for a moment, he wondered if they should have brought her along. It was hard enough to leave everyone else, but Charlie…

He felt Jo’s hand slip over to his knee and squeeze gently, “You ready?”

Dean nodded, “Yea. Yea...let’s do this.” He started the car and rolled slowly through the gate. If all went as planned and they could drive most of the way, it should only take a couple of days to navigate the blocked roadways, then maybe a couple of days to locate the building and Dick Roman, and then a couple of days back. In all, the trip shouldn’t take more than seven days, ten if they were unlucky.

The creak of the gate closing behind them was almost deafening in the otherwise quiet neighborhood, and Dean took a deep breath.

There was no turning back now.

Read Chapter 4 HERE.

If you like what you see, check out my masterlist!

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